THE HOLLY TREE INN 

AND 

A CHRISTMAS TREE 



THE WILLIAMS EDITION OF | 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL and THE 

CRICKET ON THE HEARTH 

and MR. PICKWICK'S CHRISTMAS 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR AND LINE BY 

GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS 

CXDMP ANION VOLUMES TO "THE HOLLY TREE INN" 
$2.00 EACH 

THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO. 

PUBLISHERS _ - - _ NEW YORK 



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THE HOLLY TREE INN 

AND 

A CHRISTMAS TREE 



AS WRITTEN IN THE CHRISTMAS STORIES 

By CHARLES DICKENS 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR AND LINE BY 

GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS 



NEW YORK 

THE BAKER ^ TAYLOR COMPANY 



Copyright, 1907, by The Baker & Taylor Company 



Published, October, 1907 



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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooy R-icelved 

NOV n 1907 

Cepyrleht Entry 
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The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 




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Jntrotiuction 



SINCE his first writing of Christmas in 
Pickwick, Charles Dickens has forever be- 
come associated with that season. No other 
writer ever succeeded better than he in covering 
the earth with a mantle of snow. To the hearth 
he brought the good-will and wholesome cheer of 
the Christmas Tide, and his Christmas books and 
short stories, alike, are forceful expressions of our 
own feelings because, full of life and spirit, humor 
and pathos, he made the fancies of the season his 
own. The charity of diffusing good cheer among 
both rich and poor has never been taught by a 
more seasonable and thoughtful writer. 



1 



INTRODUCTION 

Dickens was very fond of the old nursery tales 
and believed he was giving expression to them in 
a higher form in these Christmas writings. The 
virtues, manly and social, which he desired to teach, 
were to him the ghosts and goblins of his child- 
hood's fairy fancies. The more formidable drag- 
ons and giants to be conquered were aggressively 
assembled in the shadow of the hearth. So it is 
not to be wondered at, that with such source of 
inspiration these writings should carry to numer- 
ous firesides a sense of the obligations of Christ- 
mas with its claim upon our better natures. 

The childhood and early manhood of Dickens 
were years of great importance with respect to 
changes wrought in social history, and may be 
said to mark the parting of the ways between the 
ages, past and present. His life began when the 
stage coach was the only means of quick travel, 
but he lived to cross the Atlantic in a steamship, 
and his writings are filled with charming and vivid 
descriptions of these bygone manners and customs, 

known so well because of his experience as a re- 

[vi] 



INTRODUCTION 

porter, in which capacity he travelled extensively 
and met the celebrated people of his time. He 
was most successful in casting a charm upon the 
wayside inn and because of him the doors are ever 
open to the weary traveller and the bright light of 
the fire casts its welcome on the snow. 

The Holly-Tree Inn, which comprises the main 
text of this volume, was written between the crea- 
tion of "Hard Times" and ''Little Dorrit." It 
was Dickens's contribution to "Household Words" 
for Christmas, 1855, and gained great popularity 
by being included in his readings. Writing from 
Boston, Dickens states, — "Another extraordinary 
success has been *Nickleby' and * Boots at the 
Holly-Tree Inn' (appreciated here at Boston, by 
the by, even more than Copperfield)." And what 
wonder when we consider the delightful character 
of the Boots and know the two wholesome, childish 
children who live in this chapter! 

The child characters of Dickens have ever been 
a subject of contention, and some of his most pop- 
ular juvenile creations have been declared most 

[vii] 



INTRODUCTION 

unlifelike. If we do feel that ''Little Nell" and 
"Paul Dombey" are not living children, there are 
indeed, many to counterbalance them, such as 
David Copperfield, Tiny Tim, Oliver Twist, and, 
perhaps more than any of these, the children of 
the Holly-Tree Inn. Where in all literature can 
be found such delightful children? 

From the moment we step out of the coach 
with the traveller designated as "myself" on that 
snowy Christmas Eve, and the waiter "whose 
head became as white as King Lear's in a single 
moment," replies to our question, "What Inn is 
this?" "The Holly-Tree, Sir," we follow the 
magician into its homely atmosphere. Our cu- 
riosity is like that of the women of the house, who, 
that they might get a glimpse of those dear chil- 
dren, were "seven deep at the key hole." And this 
curiosity is not the least abated as, thought after 
thought, scene after scene relating to old inns, are 
brought to the traveller's hearth. 

When in a moment of desperation and loneli- 
ness the traveller summons the Boots and we are 

[ viii ] 



II I INTRODUCTION 

given the delightful romance of Mr. and Mrs. 
Harry Walmers, Jr., we are sure to hold with 
Boots in at least two opinions, ''firstly, that there 
are not many couples on their way to be married 
who are half as innocent of guile as those two 
children; secondly, that it would be a jolly good 
thing for a great many couples on their way to be 
married, if they could be stopped in time, and 
brought back separately." 

Dickens once said, "Knowledge has a very 
limited power when it informs the head only; 
but, when it informs the heart as well, it has a 
power over life and death, the body and the 
soul, and dominates the universe." And so we 
find all of Dickens's wonderful knowledge of 
humanity and of English inns laid before us with 
a warmth of heart upon which the cold, snowy 
wastes, outside the "Holly-Tree" make but little 
impression, and, indeed, we confess to delight at 
being snowed up there for a whole week. 

With our mind aglow with visions of Inns — 

their romances and their tragedies — we eagerly 

[ix] 



INTRODUCTION 

welcome — **A Christmas Tree," included in 
this volume. Here is, indeed, a Christmas tree 
to cheer the souls of all men. For each a gift 
hangs in its branches; a message in its light, and 
our imagination is so inspired that "all common 
things become uncommon and enchanted. . . . 
But, far above, I see the raiser of the dead girl, 
and the widow's son; and God is good! If age 
be hiding for me in the unseen portions of thy 
downward growth, O may I, with a grey head, 
turn a child's heart to that figure yet, and a child's 
trustfulness and confidence! Now the tree is 
decorated with bright merriment, and song, and 
dance, and cheerfulness. And they are welcome. 
Innocent and welcome be they ever held, beneath 
the branches of the Christmas tree which cast no 
gloomy shadow! But, as it sinks into the ground, 
I hear a whisper going through the leaves, — * this 
in commemoration of the law of love and kindness, 
mercy and compassion. This, in remembrance 
of Me!'" 

In regard to the pictorial embellishment of the 



INTRODUCTION 

"Holly-Tree" there seems to be little of impor- 
tance. This would certainly have pleased its 
author who told Forster, his biographer, that he 
preferred to have his works appear without illus- 
trations. And this attitude is not difficult to 
understand, for he had suffered much at the hands 
of a school of caricaturists who saw only the 
distorted side of his writings without recognizing 
their more subtle and human phase. Dickens 
was, undeniably, a caricaturist, but under this 
mantle he drew for us a most human world. The 
contention that all the old illustrations for Dickens 
are irreproachable is absurd and, for proof, we 
have only to summon before us the varied, mani- 
fold and living personalities he has given us. 
Mrs. Gamp is truly a caricature, but is Tiny Tim, 
is Oliver Twist, are the Children in **The Holly- 
Tree".^ To consider these as such would be like 
assigning all of Shakespeare's characters to that 
world of distortion, just because Falstaff, assuredly 
as Mrs. Gamp, can be so classii5ed. 

Every artist who approaches Dickens should 

[xi] 



INTRODUCTION 

recognize this distinction through his subtle pene- 
tration into the text. 

In the early sixties there arose a school of illus- 
trators who studied from life and were thus able 
to mirror its manifold phases. They brought to 
the art of illustrating all the pains and effort 
usually bestowed upon a painting, with the result 
that a series of illustrations beginning with those 
memorable drawings for "Edwin Drood," by Sir 
Luke Fildes, appeared. Following this came Fred- 
erick Barnard's great pictorial characterizations 
and the subtle and charming interpretations of 
Charles Green. With these men began the true 
pictorial understanding of Dickens, for their 
penetration into the various characters was deep 
and discerning. Caricature was recognized, but 
it was not allowed, as in the earlier pictures, to 
predominate all other traits. In place of the usual 
puppets of the original illustrations, living men 
and women greeted us as old friends. 

And from this wholesome and novel achieve- 
ment in illustration dating back some forty years, 

[xii] 



INTRODUCTION 

we find the root of all such work, since become a 
vital phase of our pictorial expression. But 
these older men were sadly hindered by the in- 
adequate methods of reproduction. To-day the 
artist meets his public with a facsimile of the 
original that may carry his meaning in a most 
subtle manner. 

To continue the aims of these men is to dis- 
cern in Dickens those human traits by which he 
is daily becoming better known. And the fact 
that this phase of Dickens is appealing to us more 
and more is the measure of his true worth. 

So it is with delight that we turn to this pro- 
foundly human document of the *' Holly-Tree," 
especially to the Boots's narration of that lovely 
romance of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr. 
Here no caricature veils the keen insight of 
Dickens into all that is human. 

A pleasing humor pervades the whole. Who 
reads and does not look back upon those days of 
childhood when clouds were castles and shadows 

[ xiii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

were dragons; when with the first breath of Spring 

we came out of the hearth's dreamland and saUied 

forth into the green fields? 

It has been the writer's aim to embody in the 

pictures for this volume that human interest 

exemplified in Dickens's closing words of the 

"Holly-Tree," — ''I began at the Holly-Tree, by 

idle accident, to associate the Christmas-time of 

year with human interest, and with some inquiry 

into, and some care for, the lives of those by whom 

I find myself surrounded. I hope that I am none 

the worse for it, and that no one near me or afar 

off is the worse for it. And I say. May the green 

Holly-Tree flourish, striking its roots deep into 

our English ground, and having its germinating 

qualities carried by the birds of Heaven all over the 

world!" 

George Alfred Williams. 

Chatham, New Jersey. 



[xiv] 



Contents; 

PART I 

The Holly Tree Inn 



PAGE 



First Branch — Myself 21 

Second Branch — The Boots 67 

Third Branch — The Bill 92 

PART II 

A Christmas Tree 103 



[XV] 



I 

I 



IList of 3[Uu2ftration0 

The Holly Tree Inn .... Frontispiece ' 

FACING PAGE 

Angela Leathy whom I was shortly to have 

married 22 *" 

/ then discovered that, inside or out, I was the 

only passenger 26 

A lean dwarf man upon a little pony ... 48 
I was taken, by quick association, to the Anglers' 

Inns of England 60 

Master Harry 68 

Tucks hery in her little sky-blue mantle, under 
his arm, and walks into the house, much 

bolder than Brass 76 

Cobbs 80 

Mrs. Harry W aimers. Junior 86 

''Edwin/' said I 94 



[ xvii ] 




THE HOLLY TREE 

FIRST BRANCH 

MYSELF 

I HAVE kept one secret in the course of my life. 
I am a bashful man. Nobody would suppose 
it, nobody ever does suppose it, nobody ever did 
suppose it, but I am naturally a bashful man. 
This is the secret which I have never breathed 
until now. 

I might greatly move the reader by some ac- 
count of the innumerable places I have not been 
to, the innumerable people I have not called upon 
or received, the innumerable social evasions I 
have been guilty of, solely because I am by original 

constitution and character a bashful man. But I 

[21] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

will leave the reader unmoved, and proceed with 
the object before me. 

That object is to give a plain account of my 
travels and discoveries in the Holly-Tree Inn; in 
which place of good entertainment for man and 
beast I was once snowed up. 

It happened in the memorable year when I 

parted for ever from 
Angela Leath, whom I 
was shortly to have mar- 
ried, on making the dis- 
covery that she preferred 
my bosom friend. From 
our school-days I had 
freely admitted Edwin, in 
my own mind, to be far 
superior to myself; and, though I was grievously 
wounded at heart, I felt the preference to be 
natural, and tried to forgive them both. It was 
under these circumstances that I resolved to go 
to America — on my way to the Devil. 

Communicating my discovery neither to Angela 
[22] 





• '\ ^ 




Ingeia J^eath, whom S waA dhoxtlij to have maxxied. 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

nor to Edwin, but resolving to write each of them 
an affecting letter conveying my blessing and for- 
giveness, which the steam-tender for shore should 
cany to the post when I myself should be bound 
for the New World, far beyond recall, — I say, 
locking up my grief in my own breast, and con- 
soling myself as I could with the prospect of being 
generous, I quietly left all I held dear, and started 
on the desolate journey I have mentioned. 

The dead winter-time was in full dreariness 
when I left my chambers for ever, at five o'clock 
in the morning. I had shaved by candle-light, of 
course, and was miserably cold, and experienced 
that general all-pervading sensation of getting 
up to be hanged which I have usually found 
inseparable from untimely rising under such 
circumstances. 

How well I remember the forlorn aspect of 

Fleet-street when I came out of the Temple ! The 

street-lamps flickering in the gusty northeast wind, 

as if the very gas were contorted with cold; the 

white-topped houses; the bleak, star-lighted sky; 

[23] 



"-^1 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

the market people and other early stragglers, trot- 
ting to circulate their almost frozen blood; the 
hospitable light and warmth of the few coffee- 
shops and public-houses that were open for such 
customers; the hard, dry, frosty rime with which 
the air was charged (the wind had already beaten 
it into every crevice), and which lashed my face 
like a steel whip. 

It wanted nine days to the end of the month, 
and end of the year. The Postoffice packet for 
the United States was to depart from Liverpool, 
weather permitting, on the first of the ensuing 
month, and I had the intervening time on my 
hands. I had taken this into consideration, and 
had resolved to make a visit to a certain spot 
(which I need not name) on the farther borders 
of Yorkshire. It was endeared to me by my 
having first seen Angela at a farmhouse in that 
place, and my melancholy was gratified by the 
idea of taking a wintry leave of it before my ex- 
patriation. I ought to explain, that, to avoid 

being sought out before my resolution should have 

[24] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

been rendered irrevocable by being carried into 

full effect, I had written to Angela over night, in 

my usual manner, lamenting that urgent business, 

of which she should know all particulars by-and- 

by — took me unexpectedly away from her for a 

week or ten days. 

There was no Northern Railway at that time, 

and in its place there were stage-coaches; which I 

occasionally find myself, in common with some 

other people, affecting to lament now, but which 

everybody dreaded as a very serious penance then. 

I had secured the box-seat on the fastest of these, 

and my business in Fleet-street was to get into a 

cab with my portmanteau, so to make the best of 

my way to the Peacock at Islington, where I was 

to join this coach. But when one of our Temple 

watchmen, who carried my portmanteau into 

Fleet-street for me, told me about the huge blocks 

of ice that had for some days past been floating in 

the river, having closed up in the night, and made 

a walk from the Temple Gardens over to the 

Surrey shore, I began to ask myself the question, 

[25] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

whether the box-seat would not be likely to put a 
sudden and a frosty end to my unhappiness. I 
was heart-broken, it is true, and yet I was not 
quite so far gone as to wish to be frozen to death. 

When I got up to the Peacock, — where I found 
everybody drinking hot purl, in self-preservation, 
— I asked if there were an inside seat to spare. 
I then discovered that, inside or out, I was the 
only passenger. This gave me a still livelier idea 
of the great inclemency of the weather, since that 
coach always loaded particularly well. However, 
I took a little purl (which I found uncommonly 
good), and got into the coach. When I was seated, 
they built me up with straw to the waist, and, 
conscious of making a rather ridiculous appear- 
ance, I began my journey. 

It was still dark when we left the Peacock. For 

a little while, pale, uncertain ghosts of houses and 

trees appeared and vanished, and then it was hard, 

black, frozen day. People were lighting their 

fires; smoke was mounting straight up high into 

the rarefied air; and we were rattling for Highgate 

[26] 



11=: 







if? 






^} m^f/ 



V\m- r / 










THE HOLLY TREE INN 

Archway over the hardest ground I have ever 
heard the ring of iron shoes on. As we got into 
the country, everything seemed to have grown old 
and gray. The roads, the trees, thatched roofs 
of cottages and homesteads, the ricks in farmers' 
yards. Out-door work was abandoned, horse- 
troughs at roadside inns were frozen hard, no 
stragglers lounged about, doors were close shut, 
little turnpike houses had blazing fires inside, and 
children (even turnpike people have children, and 
seem to like them) rubbed the frost from the little 
panes of glass with their chubby arms, that their 
bright eyes might catch a glimpse of the solitary 
coach going by. I don't know when the snow 
began to set in; but I know that we were changing 
horses somewhere when I heard the guard remark, 
"That the old lady up in the sky was picking her 
geese pretty hard to-day." Then, indeed, I found 
the white down falling fast and thick. 

The lonely day wore on, and I dozed it out, as a 
lonely traveller does. I was warm and valiant after 
eating and drinking, — particularly after dinner; 

[27] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

cold and depressed at all other times. I was 
always bewildered as to time and place, and always 
more or less out of my senses. The coach and 
horses seemed to execute in chorus Auld Lang 
Syne, without a moment's intermission. They 
kept the time and tune with the greatest regularity, 
and rose into the swell at the beginning of the 
Refrain, with a precision that worried me to death. 
While we changed horses, the guard and coach- 
man went stumping up and down the road, print- 
ing off their shoes in the snow, and poured so much 
liquid consolation into themselves without being 
any the worse for it, that I began to confound 
them, as it darkened again, with two great white 
casks standing on end. Our horses tumbled down 
in solitary places, and we got them up, — which 
was the pleasantest variety I had, for it warmed 
me. And it snowed and snowed, and still it 
snowed, and never left off snowing. All night 
long we went on in this manner. Thus we came 
round the clock, upon the Great North Road, to 
the performance of Auld Lang Syne all day again. 

[28] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

And it snowed and snowed, and still it snowed, 
and never left off snowing. 

I forget now where we were at noon on the 
second day, and where we ought to have been; 
but I know that we were scores of miles behind- 
hand, and that our case was growing worse every 
hour. The drift was becoming prodigiously deep; 
landmarks were getting snowed out; the road and 
the fields were all one; instead of having fences 
and hedge-rows to guide us, we went crunching 
on over an unbroken surface of ghastly white 
that might sink beneath us at any moment and 
drop us down a whole hillside. Still the coach- 
man and guard — who kept together on 
the box, always in council, and looking well 
about them — made out the track with astonish- 
ing sagacity. 

When we came in sight of a town, it looked, to 

my fancy, like a large drawing on a slate, with 

abundance of slate-pencil expended on the churches 

and houses where the snow lay thickest. When 

we came within a town, and found the church 

[29] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

clocks all stopped, the dial-faces choked with snow, 
and the inn-signs blotted out, it seemed as if the 
whole place were overgrown with white moss. 
As to the coach, it was a mere snowball; similarly, 
the men and boys who ran along beside us to the 
town's end, turning our clogged wheels and en- 
couraging our horses, were men and boys of snow; 
and the bleak, wild solitude to which they at last 
dismissed us was a snowy Sahara. One would 
have thought this enough: notwithstanding which, 
I pledge my word that it snowed and snowed, and 
still it snowed, and never left off snowing. 

We performed Auld Lang Syne the whole day; 
seeing nothing, out of towns and villages, but the 
track of stoats, hares, and foxes, and sometimes of 
birds. At nine o'clock at night, on a Yorkshire 
moor, a cheerful burst from our horn, and a wel- 
come sound of talking, with a glimmering and 
moving about of lanterns, roused me from my 
drowsy state. I found that we were going to 
change. 

They helped me out, and I said to a waiter, 
[30] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

whose bare head became as white as King Lear's 
in a single minute, "What Inn is this ?" 

"The Holly-Tree, sir," said he. 

"Upon my word, I believe," said I, apologeti- 
cally, to the guard and coachman, "that I must 
stop here." 

Now the landlord, and the landlady, and the 
ostler, and the postboy, and all the stable author- 
ities, had already asked the coachman, to the 
wide-eyed interest of all the rest of the establish- 
ment, if he meant to go on. The coachman had 
already replied, "Yes, he'd take her through it," 
— meaning by Her the coach, — "if so be as 
George would stand by him." George was the 
guard, and he had already sworn that he would 
stand by him. So the helpers were already getting 
the horses out. 

My declaring myself beaten, after this parley, 

was not an announcement without preparation. 

Indeed, but for the way to the announcement 

being smoothed by the parley, I more than doubt 

whether, as an innately bashful man, I should 

[31] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

have had the confidence to make it. As it was, 
it received the approval even of the guard and 
coachman. Therefore, with many confirmations 
of my inclining, and many remarks from one 
bystander to another, that the gentleman could go 
for'ard by the mail to-morrow, whereas to-night 
he would only be froze, and where was the good 
of a gentleman being froze, — ah, let alone buried 
alive (which latter clause was added by a humor- 
ous helper as a joke at my expense, and was ex- 
tremely well received), I saw my portmanteau got 
out stiff, like a frozen body; did the handsome 
thing by the guard and coachman; wished them 
good-night, and a prosperous journey; and, a 
little ashamed of myself, after all, for leaving them 
to fight it out alone, followed the landlord, laud- 
lady, and waiter of the Holly-Tree up-stairs. 

I thought I had never seen such a large room 
as that into which they showed me. It had five 
windows, with dark red curtains that would have 
absorbed the light of a general illumination; and 

there were complications of drapery at the top 

[32] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

of the curtains, that went wandering about the 
wall in a most extraordinary manner. I asked 
for a smaller room, and they told me there was no 
smaller room. They could screen me in, how- 
ever, the landlord said. They brought a great 
old japanned screen, with natives (Japanese, I 
suppose) engaged in a variety of idiotic pursuits 
all over it; and left me roasting whole before an 
immense fire. 

My bedroom was some quarter of a mile oflf, 
up a great staircase at the end of a long gallery; 
and nobody knows what a misery this is to a bash- 
ful man who would rather not meet people on the 
stairs. It was the grimmest room I have ever 
had the nightmare in; and all the furniture, from 
the four posts of the bed to the two old silver 
candlesticks, was tall, high-shouldered, and spindle- 
waisted. Below, in my sitting-room, if I looked 
round my screen, the wind rushed at me like a 
mad bull; if I stuck to my arm-chair, the fire 
scorched me to the colour of a new brick. The 

chimney-piece was very high, and there was a 

[33] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

bad glass — what I may call a wavy glass — 
above it, which, when I stood up, just showed 
me my anterior phrenological developments, — 
and these never look well, in any subject, cut short 
off at the eyebrow. If I stood with my back to 
the fire, a gloomy vault of darkness above and 
beyond the screen insisted on being looked at; 
and, in its dim remoteness, the drapery of the ten 
curtains of the five windows went twisting and 
creeping about, like a nest of gigantic worms. 

I suppose that what I observe in myself must 
be observed by some other men of similar char- 
acter in themselves; therefore I am emboldened 
to mention, that, when I travel, I never arrive at 
a place but I immediately want to go away from 
it. Before I had finished my supper of broiled 
fowl and mulled port, I had impressed upon the 
waiter in detail my arrangements for departure in 
the morning. Breakfast and bill at eight. Fly 
at nine. Two horses, or, if needful, even four. 

Tired though I was, the night appeared about 
a week long. In oasis of nightmare, I thought of 

[34] 



L 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

Angela, and felt more depressed than ever by the 
reflection that I was on the shortest road to Gretna 
Green. What had / to do with Gretna Green? 
I was not going that way to the Devil, but by the I 
American route, I remarked in my bitterness. 

In the morning I found that it was snowing 
still, that it had snowed all night, and that I was 
snowed up. Nothing could get out of that spot 
on the moor, or could come at it, until the road 
had been cut out by labourers from the market- 
town. When they might cut their way to the 
Holly-Tree nobody could tell me. 

It was now Christmas-eve. I should have had 

a dismal Christmas-time of it anywhere, and 

consequently that did not so much matter; still, 

being snowed up was like dying of frost, a thing 

I had not bargained for. I felt very lonely. Yet 

I could no more have proposed to the landlord 

and landlady to admit me to their society (though 

I should have liked it very much) than I could have 

asked them to present me with a piece of plate. 

Here my great secret, the real bashfulness of my 

[35] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

character, is to be observed. Like most bashful 
men, I judge of other people as if they were bash- 
ful too. Besides being far too shamefaced to 
make the proposal myself, I really had a delicate 
misgiving that it would be in the last degree dis- 
concerting to them. 

Trying to settle down, therefore, in my solitude, 
I first of all asked what books there were in the 
house. The waiter brought me a Book of Roads, 
two or three old Newspapers, a little Song-Book, 
terminating in a collection of Toasts and Senti- 
ments, a little Jest-Book, an odd volume of Pere- 
grine Pickle, and the Sentimental Journey, I 
knew every word of the two last already, but I 
read them through again, then tried to hum all 
the songs (Auld Lang Syne was among them); 
went entirely through the jokes, — in which I 
found a fund of melancholy adapted to my state 
of mind; proposed all the toasts, enunciated all 
the sentiments, and mastered the papers. The 
latter had nothing in them but stock advertise- 
ments, a meeting about a county rate, and a high- 

[36] 



u 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

way robbery. As I am a greedy reader, I could 
not make this supply hold out until night; it was 
exhausted by tea-time. Being then entirely cast 
upon my own resources, I got through an hour 
in considering what to do next. Ultimately, it 
came into my head ^(from which I was anxious by 
any means to exclude Angela and Edwin), that I 
would endeavour to recall my experience of Inns, 
and would try how long it lasted me. I stirred 
the fire, moved my chair a little to one side of the 
screen, — not daring to go far, for I knew the 
wind was waiting to make a rush at me, I could 
hear it growling, — and began. 

My first impressions of an Inn dated from the 
Nursery; consequently I went back to the Nursery 
for a starting-point, and found myself at the knee 
of a sallow woman with a fishy eye, an aquiline 
nose, and a green gown, whose specialty was a 
dismal narrative of a landlord by the roadside, 
whose visitors unaccountably disappeared for many 
years, until it was discovered that the pursuit of 
his life had been to convert them into pies. For 

[37] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

the better devotion of himself to this branch of 
industry, he had constructed a secret door behind 
the head of the bed; and when the visitor (op- 
pressed with pie) had fallen asleep, this wicked 
landlord would look softly in with a lamp in one 
hand and a knife in the other, would cut his throat, 
and would make him into pies; for which purpose 
he had coppers, underneath a trap-door, always 
boiling; and rolled out his pastry in the dead of 
the night. Yet even he was not insensible to the 
stings of conscience, for he never went to sleep 
without being heard to mutter, "Too much pep- 
per!" which was eventually the cause of his being 
brought to justice. I had no sooner disposed of 
this criminal than there started up another of the 
same period, whose profession was originally 
housebreaking; in the pursuit of which art he had 
had his right ear chopped off one night as he was 
burglariously getting in at a window, by a brave 
and lovely servant-maid (whom the aquiline- 
nosed woman, though not at all answering the 

description, always mysteriously implied to be 

[38] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

herself). After several years, this brave and 
lovely servant-maid was married to the landlord 
of a country Inn; which landlord had this remark- 
able characteristic, that he always wore a silk 
nightcap, and never would on any consideration 
take it off. At last, one night, when he was fast 
asleep, the brave and lovely woman lifted up his 
silk nightcap on the right side, and found that he 
had no ear there; upon which she sagaciously 
perceived that he was the clipped housebreaker, 
who had married her with the intention of putting 
her to death. She immediately heated the poker 
and terminated his career, for which she was taken 
to King George upon his throne, and received 
the compliments of royalty on her great discretion 
and valour. This same narrator, who had a 
Ghoulish pleasure, I have long been persuaded, 
in terrifying me to the utmost confines of my 
reason, had another authentic anecdote within 
her own experience, founded, I now believe, upon 
Raymond and Agnes, or the Bleeding Nun. She 

said it happened to her brother-in-law, who was 

[39] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

immensely rich, — which my father was not ; and 
immensely tall, — which my father was not. It 
was always a point with this Ghoul to present my 
dearest relations and friends to my youthful mind 
under circumstances of disparaging contrast. The 
brother-in-law was riding once through a forest 
on a magnificent horse (we had no magnificent 
horse at our house), attended by a favourite and 
valuable Newfoundland dog (we had no dog), 
when he found himself benighted, and came to 
an Inn. A dark woman opened the door, and he 
asked her if he could have a bed there. She 
answered yes, and put his horse in the stable, and 
took him into a room where there were two dark 
men. While he was at supper, a parrot in the 
room began to talk, saying, ''Blood, blood! Wipe 
up the blood!" Upon which one of the dark men 
wrung the parrot's neck, and said he was fond of 
roasted parrots, and he meant to have this one for 
breakfast in the morning. After eating and drink- 
ing heartily, the immensely rich, tall brother-in- 
law went up to bed; but he was rather vexed, 

[40] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

because they had shut his dog in the stable, saying 
that they never allowed dogs in the house. He 
sat very quiet for more than an hour, thinking 
and thinking, when, just as his candle was burning 
out, he heard a scratch at the door. He opened 
the door, and there was the Newfoundland dog! 
The dog came softly in, smelt about him, went 
straight to some straw in the corner which the 
dark men had said covered apples, tore the straw 
away, and disclosed two sheets steeped in blood. 
Just at that moment the candle went out, and the 
brother-in-law, looking through a chink in the 
door, saw the two dark men stealing up-stairs; 
one armed with a dagger that long (about five 
II feet); the other carrying a chopper, a sack, and a 

spade. Having no remembrance of the close of 
this adventure, I suppose my faculties to have 
been always so frozen with terror at this stage of 
it, that the power of listening stagnated within 
me for some quarter of an hour. 

These barbarous stories carried me, sitting there 
on the Holly-Tree hearth, to the Roadside Inn, 
i [41] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

renowned in my time in a sixpenny book with a 
folding-plate, representing in a central compart- 
ment of oval form the portrait of Jonathan Brad- 
ford, and in four corner compartments four 
incidents of the tragedy with which the name is 
associated, — coloured with a hand at once so 
j free and economical, that the bloom of Jonathan's 

complexion passed without any pause into the 
breeches of the ostler, and, smearing itself off into 
the next division, became rum in a bottle. Then 
I remembered how the landlord was found at the 
murdered traveller's bedside, with his own knife 
at his feet, and blood upon his hand; how he was 
hanged for the murder, notwithstanding his pro- 
testation that he had indeed come there to kill the 
traveller for his saddle-bags, but had been stricken 
motionless on finding him already slain; and how 
the ostler, years afterwards, owned the deed. By 
this time I had made myself quite uncomfortable. 
I stirred the fire, and stood with my back to it as 
long as I could bear the heat, looking up at the 
darkness beyond the screen, and at the wormy 

[42] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

curtains creeping in and creeping out, like the 
worms in the ballad of Alonzo the Brave and the 
Fair Imogene. 

There was an Inn in the cathedral town where 
I went to school, which had pleasanter recollec- 
tions about it than any of these. I took it next. 
It was the Inn where friends used to put up, and 
where we used to go to see parents, and to have 
salmon and fowls, and be tipped. It had an 
ecclesiastical sign, — the Mitre, — and a bar that 
seemed to be the next best thing to a bishopric, 
it was so snug. I loved the landlord's youngest 
daughter to distraction, — but let that pass. It 
was in this Inn that I was cried over by my rosy 
little sister, because I had acquired a black eye 
in a fight. And though she had been, that Holly- 
Tree night, for many a long year where all tears 
are dried, the Mitre softened me yet. 

''To be continued to-morrow,'* said I, when I 

took my candle to go to bed. But my bed took 

it upon itself to continue the train of thought that 

night. It carried me away, like the enchanted 

[43] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 



1 




carpet, to a distant place (though still in England), 
and there, alighting from a stage-coach at another 
Inn in the snow, as I had actually done some 
years before, I repeated in my sleep a curious 
experience I had really had here. More than a 
year before I made the journey in the course of 
which I put up at that Inn, I had lost a very near 
and dear friend by death. Every night since, at 
home or away from home, I had dreamed of that 
friend; sometimes as still living; sometimes as 
returning from the world of shadows to comfort 
me; always as being beautiful, placid, and happy, 

[44] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

never in association with any approach to fear or 
distress. It was at a lonely Inn in a wide moor- 
land place, that I halted to pass the night. When 
I had looked from my bedroom window over the 
waste of snow on which the moon was shining, I 
sat down by my jBre to write a letter. I had always, 
until that hour, kept it within my own breast that 
I dreamed every night of the dear lost one. But 
in the letter that I wrote I recorded the circum- 
stance, and added that I felt much interested in 
proving whether the subject of my dream would 
still be faithful to me, travel-tired, and in that 
remote place. No. I lost the beloved jSgure of 
my vision in parting with the secret. My sleep 
has never looked upon it since, in sixteen years, 
but once. I was in Italy, and awoke (or seemed 
to awake), the well-remembered voice distinctly 
in my ears, conversing with it. I entreated it, as 
it rose above my bed and soared up to the vaulted 
roof of the old room, to answer me a question I 
had asked touching the Future Life. My hands 

were still outstretched towards it as it vanished, 

[45] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

when I heard a bell ringing by the garden wall, 
and a voice in the deep stillness of the night calling 
on all good Christians to pray for the souls of the 
dead; it being All Souls' Eve. 

To return to the Holly-Tree. When I awoke 
next day, it was freezing hard, and the lowering 
sky threatened more snow. My breakfast cleared 
away, I drew my chair into its former place, and, 
with the fire getting so much the better of the 
landscape that I sat in twilight, resumed my Inn 
remembrances. 

That was a good Inn down in Wiltshire where I 

put up once, in the days of the hard Wiltshire ale, 

and before all beer was bitterness. It was on the 

skirts of Salisbury Plain, and the midnight wind 

that rattled my lattice window came moaning at 

me from Stonehenge. There was a hanger-on 

at that establishment (a supernaturally preserved 

Druid I believe him to have been, and to be still), 

with long white hair, and a flinty blue eye always 

looking afar off; who claimed to have been a 

shepherd, and who seemed to be ever watching 

[46] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

for the reappearance, on the verge of the horizon, 
of some ghostly flock of sheep that had been mutton 
for many ages. He was a man with a weird 
behef in him that no one could count the stones 
II of Stonehenge twice, and make the same number 

of them; likewise, that any one who counted them 
three times nine times, and then stood in the 
centre and said, **I dare!" would behold a tre- 
mendous apparition, and be stricken dead. He 
pretended to have seen a bustard (I suspect him 
to have been familiar with the dodo), in manner 
following: He was out upon the plain at the close 
of a late autumn day, when he dimly discerned, 
going on before him at a curious, fitfully bounding 
i pace, what he at first supposed to be a gig-um- 
brella that had been blown from some conveyance, 
but what he presently believed to be a lean dwarf 
man upon a little pony. Having followed this 
object for some distance without gaining on it, 
and having called to it many times without re- 
ceiving any answer, he pursued it for miles, and 
miles when, at length coming up with it, he dis- 

[47] 



J 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

covered it to be the last bustard in Great Britain, 
degenerated into a wingless state, and running along 
the ground. Resolved to capture him or perish in 
the attempt, he closed with the bustard; but the 
bustard, who had formed a counter-resolution that 
he should do neither, threw him, stunned him, and 
was last seen making oS due west. This weird 
man, at that stage of metempsychosis, may have 
been a sleep-walker or an enthusiast or a robber; 
but I awoke one night to find him in the dark at 
my bedside, repeating the Athanasian Creed in a 
terrific voice. I paid my bill next day, and retired 
from the county with all possible precipitation. 
That was not a commonplace story which worked 
itself out at a little Inn in Switzerland, while I was 
staying there. It was a very homely place, in a 
village of one narrow, zigzag street, among moun- 
tains, and you went in at the main door through 
the cow-house, and among the mules and the 
dogs and the fowls, before ascending a great bare 
staircase to the rooms ; which were all of unpainted 
wood, without plastering or papering, — like rough 

[48] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

packing-cases. Outside there was nothing but 
the straggling street, a little toy church with a 
copper-coloured steeple, a pine forest, a torrent, 
mists, and mountain-sides. A young man be- 
longing to this Inn had disappeared eight weeks 
before (it was dinner-time), and was supposed to 
have had some undiscovered love affair, and to 
have gone for a soldier. He had got up in the 
night, and dropped into the village street from 
the loft in which he slept with another man; and 
he had done it so quietly, that his companion and 
fellow-labourer had heard no movement when he 
was awakened in the morning, and they said, 
"Louis, where is Henri.?" They looked for him 
high and low, in vain, and gave him up. Now, 
outside this Inn, there stood, as there stood outside 
every dwelling in the village, a stack of firewood; 
but the stack belonging to the Inn was higher 
than any of the rest, because the Inn was the 
richest house, and burnt the most fuel. It began 
to be noticed, while they were looking high and 

low, that a Bantam cock, part of the live stock of 

[49] 



J 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

the Inn, put himself wonderfully out of his way 
to get to the top of this wood-stack; and that he 
would stay there for hours and hours, crowing, 
until he appeared in danger of splitting himself. 
Five weeks went on, — six weeks, — and still 
this terrible Bantam, neglecting his domestic 
affairs, was always on the top of the wood-stack, 
crowing the very eyes out of his head. By this 
time it was perceived that Louis had become 
inspired with a violent animosity towards the 
terrible Bantam, and one morning he was seen 
by a woman, who sat nursing her goitre at a little 
window in a gleam of sun, to catch up a rough 
billet of wood, with a great oath, hurl it at the 
terrible Bantam crowing on the wood-stack, and 
bring him down dead. Hereupon the woman, 
with a sudden light in her mind, stole round to the 
back of the wood-stack, and, being a good climber, 
as all those women are, climbed up, and soon was 
seen upon the summit, screaming, looking down 
the hollow within, and crying, ''Seize Louis, the 
murderer! Ring the church bell! Here is the 

[50] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

body!" I saw the murderer that day, and I saw 
him as I sat by my fire at the Holly-Tree Inn, and 
I see him now, lying shackled with cords on the 
stable litter, among the mild eyes and the smoking 
breath of the cows, waiting to be taken away by 
the police, and stared at by the fearful village. 
A heavy animal, — the dullest animal in the 
stables, — with a stupid head, and a lumpish face 
devoid of any trace of sensibility, who had been, 
within the knowledge of the murdered youth, an 
embezzler of certain small moneys belonging to 
his master, and who had taken this hopeful mode 
of putting a possible accuser out of his way. All 
of which he confessed next day, like a sulky 
wretch who couldn't be troubled any more, now 
that they had got hold of him, and meant to make 
an end of him. I saw him once again, on the day 
of my departure from the Inn. In that Canton 
the headsman still does his office with a sword; 
and I came upon this murderer sitting bound to a 
chair, with his eyes bandaged, on a scaffold in a 

little market-place. In that instant, a great sword 

[51] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

(loaded with quicksilver in the thick part of the 
blade) swept round him like a gust of wind or 
fire, and there was no such creature in the world. 
My wonder was, not that he was so suddenly 
despatched, but that any head was left unreaped, 
within a radius of fifty yards of that tremendous 
sickle. 

That was a good Inn, too, with the kind, cheerful 
landlady and the honest landlord, where I lived 
in the shadow of Mont Blanc, and where one of 
the apartments has a zoological papering on the 
walls, not so accurately joined but that the elephant 
occasionally rejoices in a tiger's hind legs and tail, 
while the lion puts on a trunk and tusks, and the 
bear, moulting as it were, appears as to portions 
of himself like a leopard. I made several American 
friends at that Inn, who all called Mont Blanc 
Mount Blank, — except one good-humoured gentle- 
man, of a very sociable nature, who became on 
such intimate terms with it that he spoke of it 
familiarly as *' Blank"; observing, at breakfast, 
"Blank looks pretty tall this morning"; or con- 

[52] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN ! 

siderably doubting in the courtyard in the evening, 
whether there warn't some go-ahead naters in | 

our country, sir, that would make out the top of i 

Blank in a couple of hours from first start — now ! i 

Once I passed a fortnight at an Inn in the North 
of England, where I was haunted by the ghost of 
a tremendous pie. It was a Yorkshire pie, like a 
fort, — an abandoned fort with nothing in it ; but 
the waiter had a fixed idea that it was a point of 
ceremony at every meal to put the pie on the 
table. After some days I tried to hint, in several 
delicate ways, that I considered the pie done with; 
as, for example, by emptying fag-ends of glasses 
of wine into it; putting cheese-plates and spoons 
into it, as into a basket; putting wine-bottles into 
it, as into a cooler; but always in vain, the pie 
being invariably cleaned out again and brought 
up as before. At last, beginning to be doubtful 
whether I was not the victim of a spectral illusion, 
and whether my health and spirits might not sink 
under the horrors of an imaginary pie, I cut a 
triangle out of it, fully as large as the musical 

[53] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

instrument of that name in a powerful orchestra. 
Human prevision could not have foreseen the 
result — but the waiter mended the pie. With 
some effectual species of cement, he adroitly fitted 
the triangle in again, and I paid my reckoning 
and fled. 

The Holly-Tree was getting rather dismal. I 
made an overland expedition beyond the screen, 
and penetrated as far as the fourth window. Here 
I was driven back by stress of weather. Arrived 
at my winter-quarters once more, I made up the 
fire, and took another Inn. 

It was in the remotest part of Cromwell. A 
great annual Miner's Feast was being holden at 
the Inn, when I and my travelling companions 
presented ourselves at night among the wild crowd 
that were dancing before it by torchlight. We 
had had a break-down in the dark, on a stony 
morass some miles away; and I had the honour 
of leading one of the unharnessed post-horses. 
If any lady or gentleman, on perusal of the present 
lines, will take any very tall post-horse with his 

[54] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

traces hanging about his legs, and will conduct 
him by the bearing-rein into the heart of a country 
dance of a hundred and fifty couples, that lady or 
gentleman will then, and only then, form an 
adequate idea of the extent to which that post- 
horse will tread on his conductor's toes. Over 
and above which, the post-horse, finding three 
hundred people whirling about him, will probably 
rear, and also lash out with his hind legs, in a 
manner incompatible with dignity or self-respect 
on his conductor's part. With such little draw- 
backs on my usually impressive aspect, I appeared 
at this Cornish Inn, to the unutterable wonder of 
the Cornish Miners. It was full, and twenty 
times full, and nobody could be received but the 
post-horse, — though to get rid of that noble 
animal was something. While my fellow-travel- 
lers and I were discussing how to pass the night 
and so much of the next day as must intervene 
before the jovial blacksmith and the jovial wheel- 
wright would be in a condition to go out on the 

morass and mend the coach, an honest man stepped 

[55] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

forth from the crowd and proposed his unlet floor 
of two rooms, with supper of eggs and bacon, ale 
and punch. We joyfully accompanied him home 
to the strangest of clean houses, where we were 
well entertained to the satisfaction of all parties. 
But the novel feature of the entertainment was, 
that our host was a chair-maker, and that the 
chairs assigned to us were mere frames, altogether 
without bottoms of any sort; so that we passed 
the evening on perches. Nor was this the ab- 
surdest consequence; for when we unbent at 
supper, and any one of us gave way to laughter, he 
forgot the peculiarity of his position, and instantly 
disappeared. I myself, doubled up into an attitude 
from which self-extrication was impossible, was 
taken out of my frame, like a clown in a comic 
pantomime who has tumbled into a tub, five 
times by the taper's light during the eggs and bacon. 
The Holly-Tree was fast reviving within me a 
sense of loneliness. I began to feel conscious that 
my subject would never carry on until I was dug 
out. I might be a week here, — weeks ! 

[56] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

There was a story with a singular idea in it, 
connected with an Inn I once passed a night at 
in a picturesque old town on the Welsh border. 
In a large double-bedded room of this Inn there 
had been a suicide committed by poison, in one 
bed, while a tired traveller slept unconscious in 
the other. After that time, the suicide bed was 
never used, but the other constantly was; the 
disused bedstead remaining in the room empty, 
though as to all other respects in its old state. 
The story ran, that whosoever slept in this room, 
though never so entire a stranger, from never so 
far off, was invariably observed to come down in 
the morning with an impression that he smelt 
Laudanum, and that his mind always turned upon 
the subject of suicide; to which, whatever kind of 
man he might be, he was certain to make some 
reference if he conversed with any one. This 
went on for years, until it at length induced the 
landlord to take the disused bedstead down, and 
bodily burn it, — bed, hangings, and all. The 
strange influence (this was the story) now changed 

[57] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

to a fainter one, but never changed afterwards. 
The occupant of that room, with occasional but 
very rare exceptions, would come down in the 
morning, trying to recall a forgotten dream he had 
had in the night. The landlord, on his mention- 
ing his perplexity, would suggest various common- 
place subjects, not one of which, as he very well 
knew, was the true subject. But the moment the 
landlord suggested "Poison," the traveller started, 
and cried, "Yes!" He never failed to accept that 
suggestion, and he never recalled any more of the 
dream. 

This reminiscence brought the Welsh Inns in 
general before me; with the women in their round 
hats, and the harpers with their white beards 
(venerable, but humbugs, I am afraid), playing 
outside the door while I took my dinner. The 
transition was natural to the Highland Inns, with 
the oatmeal bannocks, the honey, the venison 
steaks, the trout from the loch, the whiskey, and 
perhaps (having the materials so temptingly at 

hand) the Athol brose. Once was I coming 

[58] 



L.,_ 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

south from the Scottish Highlands in hot haste, 
hoping to change quickly at the station at the 
bottom of a certain wild historical glen, when 
these eyes did with mortification see the landlord 
come out with a telescope and sweep the whole 
prospect for the horses; which horses were away 
picking up their own living, and did not heave in 
sight under four hours. Having thought of the 
loch-trout, I was taken by quick association to the 
Anglers' Inns of England (I have assisted at in- 
numerable feats of angling by lying in the bottom 
of the boat, whole summer days, doing nothing 
with the greatest perseverance; which I have 
generally found to be as effectual towards the 
taking of fish as the finest tackle and the utmost 
science), and to the pleasant white, clean, flower- 
pot-decorated bedrooms of those inns, overlooking 
the river, and the ferry, and the green ait, and the 
church-spire, and the country bridge; and to the 
peerless Emma with the bright eyes and the pretty 
smile, who waited, bless her! with a natural grace 

that would have converted Blue-Beard. Casting 

[59] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

my eyes upon my Holly-Tree fire, I next discerned 
among the glowing coals the pictures of a score 
or more of those wonderful English posting-inns 
which we are all so sorry to have lost, which were 
so large and so comfortable, and which were such 
monuments of British submission to rapacity and 
extortion. He who would see these houses pining 
away, let him walk from Basingstoke, or even 
Windsor, to London, by way of Hounslow% and 
moralise on their perishing remains; the stables 
crumbling to dust; unsettled labourers and wan- 
derers bivouacking in the outhouses ; grass growing 
in the yards; the rooms, where erst so many hun- 
dred beds of down were made up, let off to Irish 
lodgers at eighteenpence a week; a little ill-looking 
beer-shop shrinking in the tap of former days, 
burning coach-house gates for firewood, having 
one of its two windows bunged up, as if it had re- 
ceived punishment in a fight with the Railroad; a 
low, bandy-legged, brick-making bulldog standing 
in the doorway. What could I next see in my 

fire so naturally as the new railway-house of these 

[60] 




I was taken, by quick association, to the Anglers' Inns of England. 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

times near the dismal country station ; with nothing 
particular on draught but cold air and damp, 
nothing worth mentioning in the larder but new 
mortar, and no business doing beyond a conceited 
affectation of luggage in the hall? Then I came 
to the Inns of Paris, with the pretty apartment of 
four pieces up one hundred and seventy-five 
waxed stairs, the privilege of ringing the bell all 
day long without influencing anybody's mind or 
body but your own, and the not-too-much-for- 
dinner, considering the price. Next to the pro- 
vincial Inns of France, with the great church-tower 
rising above the courtyard, the horse-bells jingling 
merrily up and down the street beyond, and the 
clocks of all descriptions in all the rooms, which 
are never right, unless taken at the precise minute 
when, by getting exactly twelve hours too fast or 
too slow, they unintentionally become so. Away 
I went, next, to the lesser roadside Inns of Italy; 
where all the dirty clothes in the house (not in 
wear) are always lying in your anteroom; where 
the mosquitoes make a raisin pudding of your face 

[61] 



I 
I 

!i I 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

in summer, and the cold bites it blue in winter; 
where you get what you can, and forget what you 
can't; where I should again like to be boiling my 
tea in a pocket-handkerchief dumpling, for want 
of a teapot. So to the old palace Inns and old 
monastery Inns, in towns and cities of the same 
bright country; with their massive quadrangular 
staircases, whence you may look from among 
clustering pillars high into the blue vault of heaven; 
with their stately banqueting-rooms, and vast 
refectories; with their labyrinths of ghostly bed- 
chambers, and their glimpses into gorgeous streets 
that have no appearance of reality or possibility. 
So to the close little Inns of the Malaria districts, 
with their pale attendants, and their peculiar 
smell of never letting in the air. So to the im- 
mense fantastic Inns of Venice, with the cry of 
the gondolier below, as he skims the corner; the 
grip of the watery odours on one particular little 
bit of the bridge of your nose (which is never 
released while you stay there); and the great bell 
of St. Mark's Cathedral tolling midnight. Next 

[62] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

I put up for a minute at the restless Inns upon the 
Rhine, where your going to bed, no matter at 
what hour, appears to be the tocsin for everybody 
else's getting up; and where, in the table-d'hote 
room at the end of the long table (with several 
Towers of Babel on it at the other end, all made 
of white plates), one knot of stoutish men, entirely 
dressed in jewels and dirt, and having nothing 
else upon them, will remain all night, clinking 
glasses, and singing about the river that flows, 
and the grape that grows, and Rhine wine that 
beguiles, and Rhine woman that smiles and hi 
drink drink my friend and ho drink drink my 
brother, and all the rest of it. I departed thence, 
as a matter of course, to other German Inns, 
where all the eatables are soddened down to the 
same flavour, and where the mind is disturbed 
by the apparition of hot puddings, and boiled 
cherries, sweet and slab, at awfully unexpected 
periods of the repast. After a draught of spark- 
ling beer from a foaming glass jug, and a glance 

of recognition through the windows of the student 

[63] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

beer-houses at Heidelberg and elsewhere, I put 
out to sea for the Inns of America, with their four 
hundred beds apiece, and their eight or nine hun- 
dred ladies and gentlemen at dinner every day. 
Again I stood in the bar-rooms thereof, taking 
my evening cobbler, julep, sling, or cocktail. 
Again I listened to my friend the General, — 
whom I had known for five minutes, in the course 
of which period he had made me intimate for life 
with two Majors, who again had made me in- 
timate for life with three Colonels, who again had 
made me brother to twenty-two civilians, — again, 
I say, I listened to my friend the General, leisurely 
expounding the resources of the establishment, 
as to gentlemen's morning-room, sir; ladies' morn- 
ing-room, sir; gentlemen's evening-room, sir; ladies' 
evening-room, sir; ladies' and gentlemen's evening 
reuniting-room, sir; music-room, sir; reading-room, 
sir; over four hundred sleeping-rooms, sir; and 
the entire planned and finished within twelve 
calendar months from the first clearing off of the 
old encumbrances on the plot, at a cost of five 

[64] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

hundred thousand dollars, sir. Again I found, 
as to my individual way of thinking, that the 
greater, the more gorgeous, and the more doUarous 
the establishment was, the less desirable it was. 
Nevertheless, again I drank my cobbler, julep, 
sling, or cocktail, in all good-will, to my friend 
the General, and my friends the Majors, Colonels, 
and civilians all; full well knowing that, whatever 
little motes my beamy eyes may have descried in 
theirs, they belong to a kind, generous, large- 
hearted, and great people. 

I had been going on lately at a quick pace to 
keep my solitude out of my mind; but here I 
broke down for good, and gave up the subject. 
What was I to do ? What was to become of me ? 
Into what extremity was I submissively to sink? 
Supposing that, like Baron Trenck, I looked out 
for a mouse or spider, and found one, and beguiled 
my imprisonment by training it? Even that 
might be dangerous with a view to the future. 
I might be so far gone when the road did come 
to be cut through the snow, that, on my way 
I [65] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

forth, I might burst into tears, and beseech, like 
the prisoner who was released in his old age from 
the Bastille, to be taken back again to the five 
windows, the ten curtains, and the sinuous drapery. 
A desperate idea came into my head. Under 
any other circumstances I should have rejected it; 
but, in the strait at which I was, I held it fast. 
Could I so far overcome the inherent bashfulness 
which withheld me from the landlord's table and 
the company I might find there, as to call up the 
Boots, and ask him to take a chair, — and some- 
thing in a liquid form, — and talk to me.^ I 
could. I would. I did. 



[66] 




SECOND BRANCH 

THE BOOTS 

Where had he been in his time? he repeated, 
when I asked him the question. Lord, he had 
been everywhere! And what had he been? 
Bless you, he had been everything you could 
mention a'most! 

Seen a good deal? Why, of course he had. 
I should say so, he could assure me, if I only knew 
about a twentieth part of what had come in his 
way. Why, it would be easier for him, he ex- 
pected, to tell what he hadn't seen than what he 
had. Ah! A deal, it would. 

What was the curiousest thing he had seen? 
Well! He didn't know. He couldn't momently 
name what was the curiousest thing he had seen, 
— unless it was a Unicorn, — and he see him 
once at a Fair. But supposing a young gentle- 
man not eight year old was to run away with a 

[67] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

fine young woman of seven, might I think tliat a 
queer start? Certainly. Then that was a start as 
he himself had had his blessed eyes on, and he had 
cleaned the shoes they run away in — and they 
was so little that he couldn't get his hand into 'em. 
Master Harry Walmers' father, you see, he lived 
at the Elmses, down away by Shooter's Hill there, 
six or seven miles from Lunnon. He was a 
gentleman of spirit, and good-looking, and held 
his head up when he walked, and had what you 
may call Fire about him. He wrote poetry, and 
he rode, and he ran, and he cricketed, and he 
danced, and he acted, and he done it all equally 
beautiful. He was uncommon proud of Master 
Harry as was his only child; but he didn't spoil 
him neither. He was a gentleman that had a will 
of his own and a eye of his own, and that would 
be minded. Consequently, though he made quite 
a companion of the fine bright boy, and was de- 
lighted to see him so fond of reading his fairy 
books, and was never tired of hearing him say 

my name is Norval, or hearing him sing his songs 

[68] 




"c^l^aMcr R'^cirri/." 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

about Young May Moons is beaming love, and 
When he as adores thee has left but the name, 
and that; still he kept the command over the 
child, and the child was sl child, and it's to be 
wished more of 'em was! 

How did Boots happen to know all this ? Why, 
through being under-gardener. Of course he 
couldn't be under-gardener, and be always about, 
in the summer-time, near the windows on the lawn, 
a mowing, and sweeping, and weeding, and prun- 
ing, and this and that, without getting acquainted 
with the ways of the family. Even supposing 
Master Harry hadn't come to him one morning 
early, and said, "Cobbs, how should you spell 
Norah, if you was asked ?" and then began cutting 
it in print all over the fence. 

He couldn't say he had taken particular notice 
of children before that; but really it was pretty to 
see them two mites a going about the place to- 
gether, deep in love. And the courage of the 
boy! Bless your soul, he'd have thro wed off his 

little hat, and tucked up his little sleeves, and gone 

[69] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

in at a Lion, he would, if they had happened to 
meet one, and she had been frightened of him. 
One day he stops, along with her, where Boots 
was hoeing weeds in the gravel and says, speaking 
up, *'Cobbs," he says, *'I like you'' "Do you, 
sir? I'm proud to hear it." "Yes, I do, Cobbs. 
Why, do I like you do you think, Cobbs ?" "Don't 
know. Master Harry, I am sure." "Because 
Nor ah likes you, Cobbs." "Indeed, sir.^ That's 
very gratifying." "Gratifying, Cobbs .^ It's 
better than millions of the brightest diamonds to 
be liked by Norah." "Certainly, sir." "You're 
going away, ain't you, Cobbs .^" "Yes, sir." 
"Would you like another situation, Cobbs?" 
"Well, sir, I shouldn't object, if it was a good 
'un." "Then, Cobbs," says he, "you shall be 
our Head Gardener when we are married." And 
he tucks her, in her little sky-blue mantle, under 
his arm, and walks away. 

Boots could assure me that it was better than a 
picter, and equal to a play, to see them babies, 
with their long, bright, curling hair, their spark- 

[70] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

ling eyes, and their beautiful light tread, a ram- 
bling about the garden, deep in love. Boots was 
of opinion that the birds believed they was birds, 
and kept up with 'em, singing to please 'em. 
Sometimes they would creep under the Tulip-tree, 
and would sit there with their arms round one 
another's necks, and their soft cheeks touching, 
a reading about the Prince and the Dragon, and 
the good and bad enchanters, and the king's fair 
daughter. Sometimes he would hear them plan- 
ning about having a house in a forest, keeping 
bees and a cow, and living entirely on milk and 
honey. Once he came upon them by the pond, 
II and heard Master Harry say, ''Adorable Norah, 

kiss me, and say you love me to distraction, or 
I'll jump in head-foremost." And Boots made no 
question he would have done it if she hadn't com- 
plied. On the whole. Boots said it had a tendency 
to make him feel as if he was in love himself — 
only he didn't exactly know who with. 

**Cobbs," said Master Harry, one evening, 
when Cobbs was watering the flowers, "I am 

[71] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

going on a visit, this present Midsummer, to my 
grandmamma's at York." 

"Are you indeed, sir? I hope you'll have a 
pleasant time. I am going into Yorkshire, my- 
self, when I leave here." 

"Are you going to your grandmamma's, 
Cobbs.?" 

"No, sir. I haven't got such a thing." 

"Not as a grandmamma, Cobbs.^" 

"No, sir." 

The boy looked on at the watering of the flowers 
for a little while, and then said, "I shall be very 
glad indeed to go, Cobbs, — Norah's going." 

"You'll be all right then, sir," says Cobbs, 
"with your beautiful sweetheart by your side." 

"Cobbs," returned the boy, flushing, "I never let 
anybody joke about it, when I can prevent them." 

"It wasn't a joke, sir," says Cobbs, with humility, 
— "wasn't so meant." 

"I am glad of that, Cobbs, because I like you, 
you know, and you're going to live with us. — 
Cobbs!" 

[72] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

"Sir." 

"What do you think my grandmamma gives 
me when I go down there?" 

"I couldn't so much as make a guess, sir." 

"A Bank of England five-pound note, Cobbs." 

"Whew!" says Cobbs, "that's a spanking sum 
of money. Master Harry." 

"A person could 
do a good deal with 
such a sum of money 
as that, — couldn't a 
person, Cobbs .^" 

"I believe you, 
sir!" 

"Cobbs," said the 
boy, "I'll tell you a secret. At Norah's house, 
they have been joking her about me, and pre- 
tending to laugh at our being engaged, — 
pretending to make game of it, Cobbs!" 

"Such, sir," says Cobbs, "is the depravity of 
human natur." 

The boy, looking exactly like his father, stood 

[73] 




THE HOLLY TREE INN 

for a few minutes with his glowing face towards 
the sunset, and then departed with, "Good-night, 
Cobbs. I'm going in." 

If I was to ask Boots how it happened that he 
was a going to leave that place just at that present 
time, well, he couldn't rightly answer me. He 
did suppose he might have stayed there till now if 
he had been anyways inclined. But, you see, he 
was younger then, and he wanted change. That's 
what he wanted, — change. Mr. Walmers, he 
said to him when he gave him notice of his inten- 
tions to leave, *' Cobbs," he says, "have you 
anythink to complain of.^ I make the inquiry 
because if I find that any of my people really has 
anythink to complain of, I wish to make it right if 
I can." "No, sir," says Cobbs; "thanking you, 
sir, I find myself as well sitiwated here as I could 
hope to be anywheres. The truth is, sir, that 
I'm a-going to seek my fortun'." "O, indeed, 
Cobbs!" he says; "I hope you may find it." And 
Boots could assure me — which he did, touching 
his hair with his bootjack, as a salute in the way 

[74] 



L 



THE HOLY TREE INN 

of his present calling — that he hadn't found 
it yet. 

Well, sir! Boots left the Elmses when his time 
was up, and Master Harry, he went down to the 
old lady's at York, which old lady would have 
given that child the teeth out of her head (if she 
had had any), she was so wrapped up in him. 
What does that Infant do, — for Infant you 
may call him and be within the mark, — but 
cut away from that old lady's with his Norah, 
on a expedition to go to Gretna Green and be 
married ! 

Sir, Boots was at this identical Holly-Tree Inn 
(having left it several times since to better himself, 
but always come back through one thing or an- 
other), when, one summer afternoon, the coach 
drives up, and out of the coach gets them two 
children. The Guard says to our Governor, "I 
don't quite make out these little passengers, but 
the young gentleman's words was, that they was 
to be brought here." The young gentleman gets 
out; hands his lady out; gives the Guard something 

[75] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

for himself; says to our Governor, ** We're to stop 
here to-night, please. Sitting-room and two bed- 
rooms will be required. Chops and cherry-pud- 
ding for two!" and tucks her, in her little sky-blue 
mantle, under his arm, and walks into the house, 
much bolder than Brass. 

Boots leaves me to 
judge what the amaze- 
ment of that establish- 
ment was, when these two 
tiny creatures all alone by 
themselves was marched 
into the Angel, — much 
more so, when he, who 
had seen them without 
their seeing him, give the 
Governor his views of the expedition they was 
upon. *'Cobbs," says the Governor, "if this is 
so, I must set off myself to York, and quiet their 
friends' minds. In which case you must keep 
your eye upon 'em, and humour 'em, till I come 
back. But before I take these measures, Cobbs, 

[76] 





Tucks her in her little shj-hhie mantle, under his arm, and walks 
into the house much bolder than brass. 



.u 1.1.1 TREE INN 



i; says to our Governor, ** We're to stop 
night, please. Sitting-room and two bed- 
will be required. Chops and cherry-pud- 
Tig for two!" and tucks her, in her little sky-blue 
antle, under his arm, and walks into the house, 
ch bolder than Brass. 

Boots leaves me to 
judge what the amaze- 
ment of that establish- 
ment was, when these two 
tiny creatures all alone by 
themselves was marched 
into the Ang much 

more so. when he, wh*) 
them without 
their seeing him, give the 
Gk)vernor his views of the expxhtion they was 
upon, "Cobbs," says the Governor, **if this is 
,nist set off myself to York, and quiet their 
In which case you must keep 
ve upon 'em, and humour 'em, till I come 
efore I take these measures, Cobbs, 




.^%Vi^6 nfi^\ •x'iMod A-^vrw %«.\rc»A ^\ o^V 



THE HOLY TREE INN 

I should wish you to find from themselves whether 
your opinion is correct. ''Sir, to you," says 
Cobbs, *'that shall be done directly." 

So Boots goes up-stairs to the Angel, and there 
he finds Master Harry on a e-normous sofa, — 
immense at any time, but looking like the Great 
Bed of Ware, compared with him, — a drying the 
eyes of Miss Norah with his pocket-hankecher. 
Their little legs was entirely off the ground, of 
course, and it really is not possible for Boots to 
express to me how small them children looked. 

"It's Cobbs! It's Cobbs!" cried Master Harry, 
and comes running to him, and catching hold of 
his hand. Miss Norah comes running to him on 
t'other side and catching hold of his t'other hand, 
and they both jump for joy. 

"I see you a getting out, sir," says Cobbs. **I 
thought it was you. I thought I couldn't be mis- 
taken in your height and figure. What's the 
object of your journey, sir ? — Matrimonial .?" 

"We are going to be married, Cobbs, at Gretna 

Green," returned the boy. *'We have run away 

[77] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

on purpose. Norah has been in rather low spirits, 
Cobbs; but she'll be happy, now we have found 
you to be our friend." 

"Thank you, sir, and thank you, miss," says 
Cobbs, ''for your good opinion. Did you bring 
any luggage with you, sir.?" 

If I will believe Boots when he gives me his 
word and honour upon it, the lady had got a 
parasol, a smelling-bottle, a round and a half of 
cold buttered toast, eight peppermint drops, and 
a hair-brush, — seemingly a doll's. The gentle- 
man had got about half a dozen yards of string, a 
knife, three or four sheets of writing-paper folded 
up surprising small, a orange, and a Chaney mug 
with his name upon it. 

"What may be the exact natur of your plans, 
sir.?" says Cobbs. 

"To go on," replied the boy, — which the cour- 
age of that boy was something wonderful! — "in 
the morning, and be married to-morrow." 

"Just so, sir," says Cobbs. "Would it meet 

your views, sir, if I was to accompany you.?" 

[78] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

When Cobbs said this, they both jumped for joy 
again, and cried out, "Oh, yes, yes, Cobbs! Yes!" 

"Well, sir," says Cobbs. "If you will excuse 
my having the freedom to give an opinion, what I 
should recommend would be this. I'm acquainted 
with a pony, sir, which, put in a pheayton that I 
could borrow, would take you and Mrs. Harry 
Walmers, Junior, (myself driving, if you approved,) 
to the end of your journey in a very short space of 
time. I am not altogether sure, sir, that this 
pony will be at liberty to-morrow, but even if you 
had to wait over to-morrow for him, it might be 
worth your while. As to the small account here, 
sir, in case you was to find yourself running at all 
short, that don't signify; because I'm a part pro- 
prietor of this Inn, and it could stand over." 

Boots assures me that when they clapped their 
hands, and jumped for joy again, and called him 
"Good Cobbs!" and "Dear Cobbs!" and bent 
across him to kiss one another in the delight of 
their confiding hearts, he felt himself the meanest 
rascal for deceiving 'em that ever was born. 

[79] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

"Is there anything you want just at pres- 
ent, sir?" says Cobbs, mortally ashamed of 
himself. 

"We should like some cakes after dinner," 
answered Master Harry, folding his arms, putting 
out one leg, and looking straight at him, "and two 
apples, — and jam. With dinner we should like 
to have toast-and-water. But Norah has always 
been accustomed to half a glass of currant wine at 
dessert, i^nd so have I." 

"It shall be ordered at the bar, sir," says Cobbs; 
and away he went. 

Boots has the feeling as fresh upon him at this 
minute of speaking as he had then, that he would 
far rather have had it out in half a dozen rounds 
with the Governor than have combined with him; 
and that he wished with all his heart there was any 
impossible place where those two babies could 
make an impossible marriage, and live impossibly 
happy ever afterwards. However, as it couldn't 
be, he went into the Governor's plans, and the 
Governor set off for York in half an hour. 

[80] 






^"% 



./] 




^\ 



\. 





II 



\l 



II 



f 



M 



^. 






Ln>A/>j." 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 




The way in which the women of that house — 
without exception — every one of 'em — married 
and single — took to that boy when they heard the 
story, Boots considers surprising. It was as much 
as he could do to keep 'em from dashing into the 
room and kissing him. They climbed up all sorts 
of places, at the risk of their lives, to look at him 
through a pane of glass. They was seven deep 
at the keyhole. They was out of their minds 
about him and his bold spirit. 

In the evening. Boots went into the room to 

see how the runaway couple was getting on. The 

gentleman was on the window-seat, supporting 

[81] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

the lady in his arms. She had tears upon her 
face, and was lying, very tired and half asleep, 
with her head upon his shoulder. 

"Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, fatigued, sir.^" 
says Cobb. 

"Yes, she is tired, Cobbs; but she is not used to 
be away from home, and she has been in low 
spirits again. Cobbs, do you think you could 
bring a biffin, please.^" 

"I ask your pardon, sir," says Cobbs. "What 
was it you .^" 

"I think a Norfolk biffin would rouse her, 
Cobbs. She is very fond of them." 

Boots withdrew in search of the required restor- 
ative, and, when he brought it in, the gentleman 
handed it to the lady, and fed her with a spoon, 
and took a little himself; the lady being heavy 
with sleep, and rather cross. "What should you 
think, sir," says Cobbs, "of a chamber candle- 
stick.^" The gentleman approved; the chamber- 
maid went first, up the great staircase; the lady, 
in her sky-blue mantle, followed, gallantly escorted 

[82] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

by the gentleman; the gentleman embraced her 
at her door, and retired to his own apartment, 
where Boots softly locked him up. 

Boots couldn't but feel with increased acuteness 
what a base deceiver he was, when they consulted 
him at breakfast (they had ordered sweet milk- 
and-water, and toast and currant jelly, overnight) 
about the pony. It really was as much as he 
could do, he don't mind confessing to me, to look 
them two young things in the face, and think 
what a wicked old father of lies he had grown up 
to be. Howsomever, he went on a lying like a 
Trojan about the pony. He told 'em that it did 
so unfort'nately happen that the pony was half 
clipped, you see, and that he couldn't be taken 
out in that state, for fear it should strike to his 
inside. But that he'd be finished clipping in the 
course of the day, and that to-morrow morning 
at eight o'clock the pheayton would be ready. 
Boots's view of the whole case, looking back on it 
in my room, is, that Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, 
was beginning to give in. She hadn't had her 

[83] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

hair curled when she went to bed, and she didn't 
seem quite up to brushing it herself, and its getting 
in her eyes put her out. But nothing put out 
Master Hariy. He sat behind his breakfast-cup^ 
a tearing away at the jelly, as if he had been his 
own father. 

After breakfast, Boots is inclined to consider 
that they drawed soldiers, — at least, he knows 
that many such was found in the fireplace, all on 
horseback. In the course of the morning. Master 
Harry rang the bell, — it was surprising how that 
there boy did carry on, — and said, in a sprightly 
way, **Cobbs, is there any good walks in this 
neighbourhood ?'' 

"Yes, sir," says Cobbs. "There's Love-lane." 

"Get out with you, Cobbs!" — that was that 
there boy's expression, — "you're joking." 

"Begging your pardon, sir," says Cobbs, "there 
really is Love-lane. And a pleasant walk it is, 
and proud shall I be to show it to yourself and 
Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior." 

"Norah, dear," said Master Harry, "this is 
[84] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

curious. We really ought to see Love-lane. Put 
on your bonnet, my sweetest darling, and we will 
go there with Cobbs." 

Boots leaves me to judge what a Beast he felt 
himself to be, when that young pair told him, as 
they all three jogged along together, that they had 
made up their minds to give him two thousand 
guineas a year as head-gardener, on account of 
his being so true a friend to 'em. Boots could 
have wished at the moment that the earth would 
have opened and swallowed him up, he felt so 
mean, with their beaming eyes a looking at him, 
and believing him. Well, sir, he turned the con- 
versation as well as he could, and he took 'em 
down Love-lane to the water-meadows, and there 
Master Harry would have drowned himself in 
half a moment more, a getting out a water-lily for 
her, — but nothing daunted that boy. Well, sir, 
they was tired out. All being so new and strange 
to 'em, they was tired as tired could be. And they 
laid down on a bank of daisies, like the children 

in the wood, leastways meadows, and fell asleep. 

[85] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

Boots don't know — perhaps I do, — but never 
mind, it don't signify either way — why it made a 
man fit to make a fool of himself to see them two 
pretty babies a lying there in the clear, still, sunny 
day, not dreaming half so hard when they was 
asleep as they done when they was awake. But 
Lord! when you come to think of yourself, you 
know, and what a game you have been up to ever 
since you was in your own cradle, and what a 
poor sort of a chap you are, and how it's always 
either Yesterday with you, or else To-morrow, 
and never To-day, that's where it is! 

Well, sir, they woke up at last, and then one 
thing was getting pretty clear to Boots, namely, 
that Mrs. Harry Walmerses, Junior's, temper was 
on the move. \Mien Master Harry took her round 
the waist, she said he ''teased her so"; and he 
says, "Norah, my young May Moon, your Harry 
tease you.^" she tells him, "Yes; and I want to 
go home!" 

A biled fowl, and baked bread-and-butter pud- 
ding, brought Mrs. Walmers up a little; but Boots 

[86] 




( "6 v.^. FrSaxxii ^Va ImcrA, ^jti n toi 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

I could have wished, he must privately own to 
me, to have seen her more sensible of the 
woice of love, and less abandoning of herself 
to currants. However, Master Harry, he kept 
up, and his noble heart was as fond as ever. 
Mrs. Walmers turned very sleepy about dusk, and 
began to cry. Therefore, Mrs. Walmers went off 
to bed as per yesterday; and Master Harry ditto 
repeated. 

About eleven or twelve at night comes back the 
Governor in a chaise, along with Mr. Walmers 
and a elderly lady. Mr. Walmers looks amused 
and very serious, both at once, and says to our 
missis, "We are much indebted to you, ma'am, 
for your kind care of our little children, which we 
can never sufficiently acknowledge. Pray, ma'am, 
where is my boy.^" Our missis says, ''Cobbs 
has the dear child in charge, sir. Cobbs, show 
Forty!" Then he says to Cobbs, "Ah, Cobbs, I 
am glad to see you! I understood you was here!" 
And Cobbs says, "Yes, sir. Your most obedient. 



sir." 



[87] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

I may be surprised to hear Boots say it, per- 
haps; but Boots assures me that his heart beat 
Hke a hammer, going up-stairs. "I beg your 
pardon, sir," says he, while unlocking the door; 
'*I hope you are not angry with Master Harry. 
For Master Harry is a fine boy, sir, and 
will do you credit and honour." And Boots 
signifies to me, that, if the fine boy's father 
had contradicted him in the daring state of 
mind in which he then was, he thinks he should 
have ** fetched him a crack," and taken the con- 
sequences. 

But Mr. Walmers only says, "No, Cobbs. No, 
my good fellow. Thank you!" And, the door 
being opened, goes in. 

Boots goes in too, holding the light, and he sees 
Mr. Walmers go up to the bedside, bend gently 
down, and kiss the little sleeping face. Then he 
stands looking at it for a minute, looking wonder- 
fully like it (they do say he ran away with Mrs. 
Walmers); and then he gently shakes the little 

shoulder. 

[88] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

'* Harry, my dear boy! Harry!" 

Master Harry starts up and looks at him. 
Looks at Cobbs too. Such is the honour of that 
mite, that he looks at Cobbs, to see whether he 
has brought him into trouble. 

''I am not angry, my child. I only want you 
to dress yourself and come home." 

''Yes, pa." 

Master Harry dresses himself quickly. His 
breast begins to swell when he has nearly 
finished, and it swells more and more as he 
stands, at last, a looking at his father: his 
father standing a looking at him, the quiet image 
of him. 

*' Please may I" — the spirit of that little creatur, 
and the way he kept his rising tears down ! — 
"please, dear pa — may I — kiss Norah before 
I go?" 

"You may, my child." 

So he takes Master Harry in his hand, and 
Boots leads the way with the candle, and they 
come to that other bedroom, where the elderly 

[89] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

lady is seated by the bed, and poor little Mrs. 
Harry Walmers, Junior, is fast asleep. There 
the father lifts the child up to the pillow, and he i 
lays his little face down for an instant by the little 
warm face of poor unconscious little Mrs. Harry 
Walmers, Junior, and gently draws it to him, — 
a sight so touching to the chambermaids who are 
peeping through the door, that one of them calls I 
out, "It's a shame to part 'em!" But this cham- 
bermaid was always, as Boots informs me, a soft- 
hearted one. Not that there was any harm in 
that girl. Far from it. 

Finally, Boots says, that's all about it. Mr. 
Walmers drove away in the chaise, having hold 
of Master Harry's hand. The elderly lady and 
Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, that was never to 
be (she married a Captain long afterwards, and 
died in India), went off next day. In conclusion, 
Boots put it to me whether I hold with him in two 
opinions: firstly, that there are not many couples 
on their way to be married who are half as inno- 
cent of guile as those two children; secondly, that 

[90] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

it would be a jolly good thing for a great many 
couples on their way to be married, if they could 
only be stopped in time, and brought back sep- 
arately. 




[91] 





THIRD BRANCH 



THE BILL 

I HAD been snowed up a whole week. The time 
had hung so lightly on my hands, that I should 
have been in great doubt of the fact but for a piece 
of documentary evidence that lay upon my table. 

The road had been dug out of the snow on the 
previous day, and the document in question was 
my bill. It testified emphatically to my having 
eaten and drunk, and warmed myself, and slept 
among the sheltering branches of the Holly-Tree, 
seven days and nights. 

I had yesterday allowed the road twenty-four 

hours to improve itself, finding that I required 

that additional margin of time for the completion 

of my task. I had ordered my Bill to be upon 

the table, and a chaise to be at the door, '*at eight 

[92] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

o'clock to-morrow evening." It was eight o'clock 
to-morrow evening when I buckled up my travel- 
ling writing desk in its leather case, paid my Bill, 
and got on my warm coats and wrappers. Of 
course, no time now remained for my travelling 
on to add a frozen tear to the icicles which were 
doubtless hanging plentifully about the farmhouse 
where I had first seen Angela. What I had to do 
was to get across to Liverpool by the shortest open 
road, there to meet my heavy baggage and em- 
bark. It was quite enough to do, and I had not 
an hour too much time to do it in. 

I had taken leave of all my Holly-Tree friends 
— almost, for the time being, of my bashfulness 
too — and was standing for half a minute at the 
Inn door watching the ostler as he took another 
turn at the cord which tied my portmanteau on 
the chaise, when I saw lamps coming down towards 
the Holly-Tree. The road was so padded with 
snow that no wheels were audible; but all of us 
who were standing at the Inn door saw lamps 

coming on, and at a lively rate too, between the 

[93] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 



walls of snow that had been heaped up on either 
side of the track. The chambermaid instantly- 
divined how the ease stood, and called to the ostler, 
"Tom, this is a Gretna job!" The ostler, knowing 
ji that her sex instinctively scented a marriage, 

or anything in that direction, rushed up the yard 
bawling, "Next four out!" and in a moment the 
whole establishment was thrown into commotion. 

I had a melancholy interest in seeing the happy 
man who loved and was beloved; and therefore, 
instead of driving oflF at once, I remained at the 
Inn door when the fugitives drove up. A bright- 
eyed fellow, muffled in a mantle, jumped out so 
briskly that he almost overthrew me. He turned 
to apologise, and, by Heaven, it was Edwin! 

"Charley!" said he, recoiling. "Gracious 
powers, what do you do here.^" 

"Edwin," said I, recoiling, "gracious powers, 
what do you do here.?" I struck my forehead as 
I said it, and an insupportable blaze of light 
seemed to shoot before my eyes. 

He hurried me into the little parlour (always 
1 [94] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

kept with a slow fire in it and no poker), where 
posting company waited while their horses were 
putting to, and, shutting the door, said: 

"Charley, forgive me!" 

''Edwin!" I returned. ''Was this well ? TMien 
I loved her so dearly! \Mien I had garnered up 
my heart so long!" I could say no more. 

He was shocked when he saw how moved I was, 
and made the cruel observation, that he had not 
thought I should have taken it so much to heart. 

I looked at him. I reproached him no more. 
But I looked at him. 

"My dear, dear Charley," said he, "don't 
think ill of me, I beseech you! I know you have 
a right to my utmost confidence, and, believe me, 
you have ever had it until now. I abhor secrecy. 
Its meanness is intolerable to me. But I and my 
dear girl have observed it for your sake." 

He and his dear girl! It steeled me. 

"You have observed it for my sake, sir .?" said I, 

wondering how his frank face could face it out so. 

"Yes! — and Angela's," said he. 

[95] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

I found the room reeling round in an uncertain 
way, like a labouring humming-top. "Explain 
yourself," said I, holding on by one hand to an 
arm-chair. 

"Dear old darling Charley!" returned Edwin, 
in his cordial manner, "consider! When you 
were going on so happily with Angela, why should 
I compromise you with the old gentleman by mak- 
ing you a party to our engagement, and (after he 
had declined my proposals) to our secret inten- 
tion.? Surely it was better that you should be 
able honourably to say, *He never took counsel 
with me, never told me, never breathed a word 
of it.' If Angela suspected it, and showed me all 
the favour and support she could — God bless 
her for a precious creature and a priceless wife ! — 
I couldn't help that. Neither I nor Emmeline 
ever told her, any more than we told you. And 
for the same good reason, Charley; trust me, 
for the same good reason, and no other upon 
earth!" 

Emmeline was Angela's cousin. Lived with 
[96] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

her. Had been brought up with her. Was her 
father's ward. Had property. 

**Emmeline is in the chaise, my dear Edwin!" 
said I, embracing him with the greatest affection. 

"My good fellow!" said he, "do you suppose 
I should be going to Gretna Green without her.?" 

I ran out with Edwin, I opened the chaise door, 
I took Emmeline in my arms, I folded her to my 
heart. She was wrapped in soft white fur, like 
the snowy landscape: but was warm, and young, 
and lovely. I put their leaders to with my own 
hands, I gave the boys a five-pound note apiece, I 
cheered them as they drove away, I drove the other 
way myself as hard as I could pelt. 

I never went to Liverpool, I never went to 
America, I went straight back to London, and I 
married Angela. I have never until this time, 
even to her, disclosed the secret of my character, 
and the mistrust and the mistaken journey into 
which it led me. When she, and they, and our 
eight children and their seven — I mean Edwin's 
and Emmeline's whose eldest girl is old enough 

[97] 



THE HOLLY TREE INN 

now to wear white for herself, and to look very 
like her mother in it — come to read these pages, 
as of course they will, I shall hardly fail to be 
found out at last. Never mind! I can bear it. 
I began at the Holly-Tree, by idle accident, to 
associate the Christmas-time of year with human 
interest, and with some inquiry into, and some 
care for, the lives of those by whom I find myself 
surrounded. I hope that I am none the worse 
for it, and that no one near me or afar off is the 
worse for it. And I say. May the green Holly- 
Tree flourish, striking its roots deep into our Eng- 
lish ground, and having its germinating qualities 
carried by the birds of Heaven all over the world! 
LOfCo 




[98] 




A CHRISTMAS TREE 



I HAVE been looking on, this evening, at a 
merry company of children assembled round 
that pretty German toy, a Christmas Tree. The 
tree was planted in the middle of a great round 
table, and towered high above their heads. It 
was brilliantly lighted by a multitude of little 
tapers; and everywhere sparkled and glittered 
with bright objects. There were rosy-cheeked 
dolls, hiding behind the green leaves; and there 
were real watches (with movable hands, at least, 
and an endless capacity of being wound up) 
dangling from innumerable twigs; there were 
French-polished tables, chairs, bedsteads, ward- 
robes, eight-day clocks, and various other articles 
of domestic furniture (wonderfully made, in tin, at 

[103] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

Wolverhampton), perched among the boughs, as 
if in preparation for some fairy housekeeping; 
there were jolly, broad-faced little men, much 
more agreeable in appearance than many real men 
— and no wonder, for their heads took off, and 
showed them to be full of sugar-plums; there 
were fiddles and drums; there were tambourines, 
books, work-boxes, paint-boxes, sweetmeat-boxes, 
peep-show boxes, and all kinds of boxes ; there were 
trinkets for the elder girls, far brighter than any 
grown-up gold and jewels; there were baskets and 
pincushions in all devices ; there were guns, swords, 
and banners; there were witches standing in en- 
chanted rings of pasteboard, to tell fortunes; 
there were teetotums, humming-tops, needle-cases, 
pen-wipers, smelling-bottles, conversation-cards, 
bouquet-holders; real fruit, made artificially daz- 
zling with gold leaf; imitation apples, pears, and 
walnuts, crammed with surprises; in short, as a 
pretty child, before me, delightedly whispered to 
another pretty child, her bosom friend, ''There 
was everything, and more." This motley collec- 

[104] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

tion of odd objects, clustering on the tree like 
magic fruit, and flashing back the bright looks 
directed towards it from every side — some of the 
diamond-eyes admiring it were hardly on a level 
with the table, and a few were languishing in timid 
wonder on the bosoms of pretty mothers, aunts, 
and nurses — made a lively realisation of the 
fancies of childhood; and set me thinking how all 
the trees that grow, and all the things that come 
into existence on the earth, have their wild adorn- 
ments at that well-remembered time. 

Being now at home again, and alone, the only 
person in the house awake, my thoughts are 
drawn back, by a fascination which I do not care 
to resist, to my own childhood. I begin to con- 
sider, what do we all remember best upon the 
branches of the Christmas Tree of our own young 
Christmas days, by which we climbed to real life, 

Straight, in the middle of the room, cramped in 

the freedom of its growth by no encircling walls 

or soon-reached ceiling, a shadowy tree arises; 

and, looking up into the dreamy brightness of its 

[105] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

top — for I observe in this tree the singular 
property that it appears to grow downward towards 
the earth — I look into my youngest Christmas 
recollections ! 

All toys at first, I find. Up yonder, among the 
green holly and red berries, is the Tumbler with 
his hands in his pockets, who wouldn't lie down, 
but whenever he was put upon the floor, persisted 
in rolling his fat body about, until he rolled him- 
self still, and brought those lobster eyes of his to 
bear upon me — when I affected to laugh very 
much, but in my heart of hearts was extremely 
doubtful of him. Close beside him is that infernal 
snuff-box, out of which there sprang a demoniacal 
Counsellor in a black gown, with an obnoxious 
head of hair, and a red cloth mouth, wide open, 
who was not to be endured on any terms, but could 
not be put away either; for he used suddenly, in a 
highly magnified state, to fly out of Mammoth 
Snuff-boxes in dreams, when least expected. Nor 
is the frog with cobbler's wax on his tail, far off; 
for there was no knowing where he wouldn't 

[106] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

jump ; and when he flew over the candle, and came 
upon one's hand with that spotted back — red 
on a green ground — he was horrible. The card- 
board lady in a blue-silk skirt, who was stood up 
against the candlestick to dance, and whom I see 
on the same branch, was milder, and was beautiful ; 
but I can't say as much for the larger cardboard 
man, who used to be hung against the wall and 
pulled by a string; there was a sinister expression 
in that nose of his ; and when he got his legs round 
his neck (which he very often did), he was ghastly, 
and not a creature to be alone with. 

When did that dreadful Mask first look at me ? 
Who put it on, and why was I so frightened that 
the sight of it is an era in my life.^ It is not a 
hideous visage in itself; it is even meant to be 
droll; why then were its stolid features so in- 
tolerable ? Surely not because it hid the wearer's 
face. An apron would have done as much; and 
though I should have preferred even the apron 
away, it would not have been absolutely insup- 
portable, like the mask. Was it the immovability 

[107] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

of the mask? The doll's face was immovable, 
but I was not afraid of her. Perhaps that fixed 
and set change coming over a real face, infused 
into my quickened heart some remote suggestion 
and dread of the universal change that is to come 
on every face, and make it still. Nothing recon- 
ciled me to it. No drummers, from whom pro- 
ceeded a melancholy chirping on the turning of 
a handle; no regiment of soldiers, with a mute 
band, taken out of a box, and fitted, one by one, 
upon a stiff and lazy little set of lazy-tongs; no old 
woman, made of wires and a brown-paper com- 
position, cutting up a pie for two small children; 
could give me a permanent comfort, for a long time. 
Nor was it any satisfaction to be shown the Mask, 
and see that it was made of paper, or to have 
it locked up and be assured that no one wore it. 
The mere recollection of that fixed face, the mere 
knowledge of its existence anywhere, was sufficient 
to awake me in the night all perspiration and horror, 
with, '*0 I know it's coming! O the mask!" 

I never wondered what the dear old donkey 
[108] 



A CHRIST^L\S TREE 

with the panniers — there he is I was made of, 
then I His hide was real to the touch, I recollect. 
And the great black horse with the round red spots 
all over him — the horse that I could even get 
upon — I never wondered what had brought him 
to that strange condition, or thought that such a 
horse was not commonly seen at Newmarket. 
The four horses of no colour, next to him, that 
went into the waggon of cheeses, and could be 
taken out and stabled under the piano, appear 
to have bits of fur-tippet for their tails, and other 
bits for their manes, and to stand on pegs instead 
of legs, but it was not so when they were brought 
home for a Christmas present. They were all 
right, then; neither was their harness uncere- 
moniously nailed into their chests, as appears 
to be the case now. The tinkling works of the 
music-cart, I did find out, to be made of quill 
tooth-picks and wire; and I always thought that 
little tumbler in his shirt sleeves, perpetually 
swarming up one side of a wooden frame, and 
coming down, head foremost, on the other, rather 

[109] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

a weak-minded person — though good-natured ; 
but the Jacob's Ladder, next him, made of little 
squares of red wood, that went flapping and clat- 
tering over one another, each developing a dif- 
ferent picture, and the whole enlivened by small 
bells, was a mighty marvel and a great delight. 

Ah ! The Doll's house ! — of which I was not 
proprietor, but where I visited. I don't admire 
the Houses of Parliament half so much as that 
stone-fronted mansion with real glass windows, 
and door-steps, and a real balcony — greener 
than I ever see now, except at watering places; 
and even they afford but a poor imitation. And 
though it did open all at once, the entire house- 
front (which was a blow, I admit, as cancelling 
the fiction of a staircase), it was but to shut it up 
again, and I could believe. Even open, there 
were three distinct rooms in it: a sitting-room and 
bedroom, elegantly furnished, and best of all, a 
kitchen, with uncommonly soft fire-irons, a plenti- 
ful assortment of diminutive utensils — oh, the 
warming-pan ! — and a tin man-cook in profile, 

[110] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

who was always going to fry two fish. WTiat Bar- 
mecide justice have I done to the noble feasts 
wherein the set of wooden platters figured, each 
with its own peculiar delicacy, as a ham or turkey, 
glued tight on to it, and garnished with something 
green, which I recollect as moss! Could all the 
Temperance Societies of these later days, united, 
give me such a tea-drinking as I have had through 
the means of yonder little set of blue crockery, 
which really would hold liquid (it ran out of the 
small wooden cask, I recollect, and tasted of 
matches), and which made tea, nectar. And if 
the two legs of the ineffectual little sugar-tongs did 
tumble over one another, and want purpose, like 
Punch's hands, what does it matter? And if I 
did once shriek out, as a poisoned child, and strike 
the fashionable company with consternation, by 
reason of having drunk a little teaspoon, inadver- 
tently dissolved in too hot tea, I was never the 
worse for it, except by a powder! 

Upon the next branches of the tree, lower down, 
hard by the green roller and miniature gardening- 

[111] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

tools, how thick the books begin to hang. Thin 
books, in themselves, at first, but many of them, 
and with delieiously smooth covers of bright red 
or green. What fat black letters to begin with! 
*' A was an archer, and shot at a frog." Of course 
he was. He was an apple-pie also, and there he 
is ! He was a good many things in his time, was A, 
and so were most of his friends, except X, who 
had so little versatilitv, that I never knew him 
to get beyond Xerxes or Xantippe — like Y, 
who was always confined to a Yacht or a Yew 
Tree; and Z condemned for ever to be a Zebra or 
a Zany. But, now, the very tree itself changes, 
and becomes a bean-stalk — the marvellous bean- 
stalk up which Jack climbed to the Giant's house! 
And now, those dreadfully interesting, double- 
headed giants, with their clubs over their shoulders, 
begin to stride along the boughs in a perfect 
throng, dragging knights and ladies home for 
dinner by the hair of their heads. And Jack — 
how noble, with his sword of sharpness, and his 

shoes of swiftness! Again those old meditations 

[112] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

come upon me as I gaze up at him; and I debate 
within myself whether there was more than one 
Jack (which I am loath to believe possible), or only 
one genuine original admirable Jack, who achieved 
all the recorded exploits. 

Good for Christmas-time is the ruddy colour 
of the cloak, in which — the tree making a forest 
of itself for her to trip through, with her basket — 
Little Red Riding Hood comes to me one Christ- 
mas Eve to give me information of the cruelty and 
treachery of that dissembling Wolf who ate her 
grandmother, without making any impression on 
his appetite, and then ate her, after making that 
ferocious joke about his teeth. She was my first 
love. I felt that if I could have married Little 
Red Riding Hood, I should have known perfect 
bliss. But, it was not to be; and there was nothing 
for it but to look out the Wolf in the Noah's Ark 
there, and put him late in the procession on the 
table, as a monster who was to be degraded. O 
the wonderful Noah's Ark! It was not found 

seaworthy when put in a washing-tub, and the 

[113] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

animals were crammed in at the roof, and needed 
to have their legs well shaken down before they 
could be got in, even there — and then, ten to one 
but they began to tumble out at the door, which 
was but imperfectly fastened with a wire latch — 
but what was that against it! Consider the noble 
fly, a size or two smaller than the elephant: the 
lady-bird, the butterfly — all triumphs of art ! 
Consider the goose, whose feet were so small, 
and whose balance was so indifferent, that he 
usually tumbled forward, and knocked down all 
the animal creation. Consider Noah and his 
family, like idiotic tobacco-stoppers; and how the 
leopard stuck to warm little fingers; and how the 
tails of the larger animals used gradually to resolve 
themselves into frayed bits of string! 

Hush! Again a forest, and somebody up in a 
tree — not Robin Hood, not Valentine, not the 
Yellow Dwarf (I have passed him and all Mother 
Bunch's wonders, without mention), but an Eastern 
King with a glittering scimitar and turban. By 
Allah! two Eastern Kings, for I see another, 

[114] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

looking over his shoulder! Down upon the grass, 
at the tree's foot, lies the full length of a coal- 
black Giant, stretched asleep, with his head in a 
lady's lap; and near them is a glass box, fastened 
with four locks of shining steel, in which he keeps 
the lady prisoner when he is awake. I see the 
four keys at his girdle now. The lady makes 
signs to the two kings in the tree, who softly 
descend. It is the setting-in of the bright Arabian 
Nights. 

Oh, now all common things become uncommon 
and enchanted to me. All lamps are wonderful; 
all rings are talismans. Common flower-pots are 
full of treasure, with a little earth scattered on the 
top; trees are for Ali Baba to hide in; beef -steaks 
are to throw down into the Valley of Diamonds, 
that the precious stones may stick to them, and be 
carried by the eagles to their nests, whence the 
traders, with loud cries, will scare them. Tarts 
are made, according to the recipe of the Vigier's 
son of Bussorah, who turned pastrycook after he 

was set down in his drawers at the gate of Damas- 

[115] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

cus; cobblers are all Mustaphas, and in the habit 
of sewing up people cut into four pieces, to whom 
they are taken blindfold. 

Any iron ring let into stone is the entrance to a 
cave which only waits for the magician, and the 
little fire, and the necromancy, that will make 
the earth shake. All the dates imported come 
from the same tree as that unlucky date, with 
whose shell the merchant knocked out the eye of 
the genie's invisible son. All olives are of the stock 
of that fresh fruit, concerning which the Com- 
mander of the Faithful overheard the boy conduct 
the fictitious trial of the fraudulent olive merchant; 
all apples are akin to the apple purchased (with 
two others) from the Sultan's gardener for three 
sequins, and which the tall black slave stole from 
the child. All dogs are associated with the dog, 
really a transformed man, who jumped upon the 
baker's counter, and put his paw on the piece of 
bad money. All rice recalls the rice which the 
awful lady, who was a ghoul, could only peck by 
grains, because of her nightly feasts in the burial- 

[116] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

place. My very rocking-horse, — there he is, 
with his nostrils turned completely inside-out, in- 
dicative of Blood ! — should have a peg in his 
neck, by virtue thereof to fly away with me, as the 
wooden horse did with the Prince of Persia, in the 
sight of all his father's Court. 

Yes, on every object that I recognise among 
those upper branches of my Christmas Tree, I 
see this fairy light! When I awake in bed, at 
daybreak, on the cold, dark, winter mornings, 
the white snow dimly beheld, outside, through 
the frost on the window-pane, I hear Dinarzade. 
"Sister, sister, if you are yet awake, I pray you 
finish the history of the Young King of the Black 
Islands." Scheherazade replies, *'If my lord the 
Sultan will suffer me to live another day, sister, 
I will not only finish that, but tell you a more 
wonderful story yet." Then, the gracious Sultan 
goes out, giving no orders for the execution, and 
we all three breathe again. 

At this height of my tree I begin to see, cower- 
ing among the leaves — it may be born of turkey, 

[117] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

or of pudding, or mince pie, or of these many 
fancies, jumbled with Robinson Crusoe on his 
desert island, Philip Quarll among the monkeys, 
Sandford and Merton with Mr. Barlow, Mother 
Bunch, and the Mask — or it may be the result of 
indigestion, assisted by imagination and over- 
doctoring — a prodigious nightmare. It is so 
exceedingly indistinct, that I don't know why it's 
frightful — but I know it is. I can only make 
out that it is an immense array of shapeless things, 
which appear to be planted on a vast exaggeration 
of the lazy-tongs that used to bear the toy soldiers, 
and to be slowly coming close to my eyes, and 
receding to an immeasurable distance. When it 
comes closest, it is worse. In connection with it 
I descry remembrances of winter nights incredibly 
long; of being sent early to bed, as a punishment 
for some small offence, and waking in two hours, 
with a sensation of having been asleep two nights; 
of the laden hopelessness of morning ever dawn- 
ing; and the oppression of a weight of remorse. 

And now, I see a wonderful row of little lights 
[118] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

rise smoothly out of the ground, before a vast 
green curtain. Now, a bell rings — a magic bell, 
which still sounds in my ears unlike all other bells 
— and music plays, amidst a buzz of voices, and 
a fragrant smell of orange-peel and oil. Anon, 
the magic bell commands the music to cease, and 
the great green curtain rolls itself up majestically, 
and The Play begins! The devoted dog of Mon- 
targis avenges the death of his master, foully 
murdered in the Forest of Bondy; and a humorous 
Peasant with a red nose and a very little hat, 
whom I take from this hour forth to my bosom 
as a friend (I think he was a Waiter or an Hostler 
at a village Inn, but many years have passed 
since he and I have met), remarks that the sas- 
sigassity of that dog is indeed surprising; and 
evermore this jocular conceit will live in my remem- 
brance fresh and unfading, overtopping all pos- 
sible jokes, unto the end of time. Or now, I learn 
with bitter tears how poor Jane Shore, dressed 
all in white, and with her brown hair hanging 

down, went starving through the streets; or how 

[119] 



I A CHRISTMAS TREE 

George Barnwell killed the worthiest uncle that 

|i ever man had, and was afterwards so sorry for it 

i! that he ought to have been let off. Comes swift 

I to comfort me, the Pantomime — stupendous 

t Phenomonen! — when clowns are shot from loaded 

I mortars into the great chandelier, bright constella- 

IJ tion that it is; when Harlequins, covered all over 

i with scales of pure gold, twist and sparkle, like 

;| amazing fish; when Pantaloon (whom I deem it 

I no irreverence to compare in my own mind to my 

I I grandfather) puts red-hot pokers in his pocket, 
i{ 

j| and cries "Here's somebody coming!" or taxes 

li the Clown with petty larceny, by saying, "Now, I 

j| sawed you do it!" when Everything is capable, 

11 with the greatest ease, of being changed into Any- 

thing; and "Nothing is, but thinking makes it so." 
Now, too, I perceive my first experience of the 
dreary sensation — often to return in after-life — 
of being unable, next day, to get back to the dull, 
settled world; of wanting to live for ever in the 
bright atmosphere I have quitted ; of doting on the 
little Fairy with the wand like a celestial barber's 

[120] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

pole, and pining for a Fairy immortality along with 
her. Ah, she comes back, in many shapes, as my eye 
wanders down the branches of my Christmas Tree, 
and go§s as often, and has never yet stayed by me ! 

Out of this delight springs the toy-theatre, — 
there it is, with its familiar proscenium, and ladies 
in feathers, in the boxes ! — and all its attendant 
occupation with paste and glue, and gum, and 
water colours, in the getting-up of The Miller 
and his Men, and Elizabeth, or the Exile of Siberia. 
In spite of a few besetting accidents and failures 
(particularly an unreasonable disposition in the 
respectable Kelmar, and some others, to become 
faint in the legs, and double up, at exciting points 
of the drama), a teeming world of fancies so sug- 
gestive and all-embracing, that, far below it on my 
Christmas Tree, I see dark, dirty, real Theatres 
in the day-time, adorned with these associations 
as with the freshest garlands of the rarest flowers, 
and charming me yet. 

But hark! The Waits are playing, and they 
break my childish sleep! What images do I 

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associate with the Christmas music as I see them 
set forth on the Christmas Tree ? Known before 
all the others, keeping far apart from all the others, 
they gather round my little bed. An angel, speak- 
ing to a group of shepherds in a field ; some travel- 
lers, with eyes uplifted, following a star; a baby 
in a manger; a child in a spacious temple, talking 
with grave men; a solemn figure, with a mild and 
beautiful face, raising a dead girl by the hand; 
again, near a city gate, calling back the son of a 
widow, on his bier, to life; a crowd of people 
looking through the opened roof of a chamber 
where he sits, and letting down a sick person on a 
bed, with ropes; the same, in a tempest, walking 
on the water to a ship ; again, on a sea-shore, teach- 
ing a great multitude; again, with a child upon his 
knee, and other children round; again, restoring 
sight to the blind, speech to the dumb, hearing 
to the deaf, health to the sick, strength to the 
lame, knowledge to the ignorant; again, dying 
upon a Cross, watched by armed soldiers, a thick 
darkness coming on, the earth beginning to shake, 

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A CHRISTMAS TREE 

and only one voice heard, " Forgive them, for they 
know not what they do." 

Still, on the lower and maturer branches of the 
Tree, Christmas associations cluster thick. School- 
books shut up; Ovid and Virgil silenced; the Rule 
of Three, with its cool impertinent inquiries, long 
disposed of; Terence and Plautus acted no more, 
in an arena of huddled desks and forms, all 
chipped, and notched, and inked; cricket-bats, 
stumps, and balls, left higher up, with the smell 
of trodden grass and the softened noise of shouts 
in the evening air; the tree is still fresh, still gay. 
If I no more come home at Christmas-time, there 
will be boys and girls (thank Heaven!) while the 
World lasts; and they do! Yonder they dance 
and play upon the branches of my Tree, God bless 
them, merrily, and my heart dances and plays too! 

And I do come home at Christmas. We all do, 
or we all should. We all come home, or ought to 
come home, for a short holiday — the longer, the 
better — from the great boarding-school, where 
we are for ever working at our arithmetical slates, 

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A CHRIST^VIAS TREE 

to take, and give a rest. As to going a visiting, 
where can we not go, if we will; where have we 
not been, when we would; starting our fancy from 
our Christmas Tree! 

Away into the winter prospect. There are 
many such upon the tree! On, by low-lying, 
misty grounds, through fens and fogs, up long 
hills, winding dark as caverns between thick 
plantations, almost shutting out the sparkling 
stars; so, out on broad heights, until we stop at 
last, with sudden silence, at an avenue. The 
gate-bell has a deep, half -awful sound in the 
frosty air ; the gate swings open on its hinges ; and, 
as we drive up to a great house, the glancing 
lights grow larger in the windows, and the oppos- 
ing rows of trees seem to fall solemnly back on 
either side, to give us place. At intervals, all day^ 
a frightened hare has shot across this whitened 
turf; or the distant clatter of a herd of deer tramp- 
ling the hard frost, has, for the minute, crushed 
the silence too. Their watchful eyes beneath the 
fern may be shining now, if we could see them, 

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A christ:\ias tree 

like the icy dewdrops on the leaves; but they are 
still, and all is still. And so, the lights growing 
larger, and the trees falling back before us, and 
closing up again behind us, as if to forbid retreat, 
we come to the house. 

There is probably a smell of roasted chestnuts 
and other good comfortable things all the time, 
for we are telling Winter Stories — Ghost Stories, 
or more shame for us — round the Christmas fire ; 
and we have never stirred, except to draw a little 
nearer to it. But, no matter for that. We came 
to the house, and it is an old house, full of great 
chimneys, where wood is burnt on ancient dogs 
upon the hearth, and grim portraits (some of them 
with grim legends, too) lower distrustfully from 
the oaken panels of the walls. We are a middle- 
aged nobleman, and we make a generous supper 
with our host and hostess and their guests — it 
being Christmas-time, and the old house full of 
company — and then we go to bed. Our room 
is a very old room. It is hung with tapestr}'. We 

don't like the portrait of a cavalier in green, over 

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A CHRISTMAS TREE 

the fireplace. There are great black beams in 
the ceiling, and there is a great black bedstead, 
supported at the foot by two great black figures, 
who seem to have come off a couple of tombs in 
the old baronial church in the park, for our par- 
ticular accommodation. But, we are not a super- 
stitious nobleman, and we don't mind. Well! 
we dismiss our servant, lock the door, and sit 
before the fire in our dressing-gown, musing about 
a great many things. At length we go to bed. 
Well! we can't sleep. We toss and tumble, and 
can't sleep. The embers on the hearth burn fit- 
fully and make the room look ghostly. We can't 
help peeping out over the counterpane, at the two 
black figures and the cavalier — that wicked- 
looking cavalier — in green. In the flickering 
light they seem to advance and retire: which, 
though we are not by any means a superstitious 
nobleman, is not agreeable. Well ! we get nervous 
— more and more nervous. We say ''This is 
very foolish, but we can't stand this ; we'll pretend 

to be ill, and knock up somebody." Well! we 

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r 



A CHRIST]MAS TREE 

are just going to do it, when the locked door opens, 
and there comes in a young woman, deadly pale, 
and with long fair hair, who glides to the fire, and 
sits down in the chair we have left there, wringing 
her hands. Then, we notice that her clothes are 
wet. Our tongue cleaves to the roof of our mouth, 
and we can't speak; but, we observe her accurately. 
Her clothes are wet; her long hair is dabbled with 
moist mud; she is dressed in the fashion of two 
hundred years ago; and she has at her girdle a 
bunch of rusty keys. Well! there she sits, and we 
can't even faint, we are in such a state about it. 
Presently she gets up, and tries all the locks in the 
room with the rusty keys, which won't fit one of 
them; then, she fixes her eyes on the portrait of 
the cavalier in green, and says, in a low, terrible 
voice, "The stags know it!" Mier that, she 
wrings her hands again, passes the bedside, and 
goes out at the door. We hurry on our dressing- 
gown, seize our pistols (we always travel with 
pistols), and are following, when we find the door 
locked. We turn the key, look out into the dark 

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=J 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

gallery; no one there. We wander away, and try 
to find our servant. Can't be done. We pace the 
gallery till daybreak; then return to our deserted 
room, fall asleep, and are awakened by our ser- 
vant (nothing ever haunts him) and the shining 
sun. Well! we make a wretched breakfast, and 
all the company say we look queer. After break- 
fast, we go over the house with our host, and then 
we take him to the portrait of the cavalier in 
green, and then it all comes out. He was false 
to a young housekeeper once attached to that 
family, and famous for her beauty, who drowned 
herself in a pond, and whose body was discovered, 
after a long time, because the stags refused to 
drink of the water. Since which, it has been 
whispered that she traverses the house at midnight 
(but goes especially to that room where the cava- 
lier in green was wont to sleep), trying the old 
locks with the rusty keys. Well! we tell our host 
of what we have seen, and a shade comes over his 
features, and he begs it may be hushed up; and so 
it is. But, it's all true; and we said so, before 

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A CHRISTMAS TREE 

we died (we are dead now) to many responsible 
people. 

There is no end to the old houses, with resound- 
ing galleries, and dismal state-bedchambers, and 
haunted wings shut up for many years, through 
which we may ramble, with an agreeable creeping 
up our back, and encounter any number of ghosts, 
but (it is worthy of remark perhaps) reducible to 
a very few general types and classes; for, ghosts 
have little originality, and *' walk" in a beaten track. 
Thus, it comes to pass, that a certain room in a 
certain old hall, where a certain bad lord, baronet, 
knight, or gentleman, shot himself, has certain 
planks in the floor from which the blood will not 
be taken out. You may scrape and scrape, as 
the present owner has done, or plane and plane, 
as his father did, or scrub and scrub, as his grand- 
father did, or burn and burn with strong acids, as 
his great-grandfather did, but, there the blood 
will still be — no redder and no paler — no more 
and no less — always just the same. Thus, in 
such another house there is a haunted door, that 

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A CHRISTMAS TREE 

never will keep open; or another door that never 
will keep shut; or a haunted sound of a spinning- 
wheel, or a hammer, or a footstep, or a cry, or a 
sigh, or a horse's tramp, or the rattling of a chain. 
Or else, there is a turret-clock, which, at the mid- 
night hour, strikes thirteen when the head of the 
family is going to die; or a shadowy, immovable 
black carriage which at such a time is always seen 
by somebody, waiting near the great gates in the 
stable-yard. Or thus, it came to pass how Lady 
Mary went to pay a visit at a large wild house in 
the Scottish Highlands, and, being fatigued with 
her long journey, retired to bed early, and inno- 
cently said, next morning, at the breakfast-table, 
"How odd, to have so late a party last night, in 
this remote place, and not to tell me of it, before I 
went to bed!" Then, every one asked Lady 
Mary what she meant? Then, Lady Mary re- 
plied, "Why, all night long, the carriages were 
driving round and round the terrace, underneath 
my window!" Then, the owner of the house 
turned pale, and so did his Lady, and Charles 

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A CHRISTMAS TREE 

Macdoodle of Macdoodle signed to Lady Mary 
to say no more, and every one was silent. After 
breakfast, Charles Macdoodle told Lady Mary 
that it was a tradition in the family that those 
rumbling carriages on the terrace betokened death. 
And so it proved, for, two months afterwards, the 
Lady of the mansion died. And Lady Mary, 
who was a Maid of Honour at Court, often told 
this story to the old Queen Charlotte; by this 
token that the old King always said, ''Eh, eh.^ 
What, what? Ghosts, ghosts.^ No such thing, 
no such thing!" And never left off saying so, 
until he went to bed. 

Or, a friend of somebody's whom most of us 
know, when he was a young man at college, had a 
particular friend, with whom he made the com- 
pact that, if it were possible for the Spirit to return 
to this earth after its separation from the body, 
he of the twain who first died, should reappear to 
the other. In course of time, this compact was 
forgotten by our friend; the two young men hav- 
ing progressed in life, and taken diverging paths 

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A CHRISTMAS TREE 

that were wide asunder. But, one night, many 
years afterwards, our friend being in the North of 
England, and staying for the night in an inn, on 
the Yorkshire Moors, happened to look out of 
bed; and there, in the moonlight, leaning on a 
bureau near the window, steadfastly regarding 
him, saw his old college friend! The appearance 
being solemnly addressed, replied, in a kind of 
whisper, but very audibly, *'Do not come near me. 
I am dead. I am here to redeem my promise. I 
come from another world, but may not disclose 
its secrets!" Then, the whole form becoming 
paler, melted, as it were, into the moonlight, and 
faded away. 

Or, there was the daughter of the first occupier 
of the picturesque Elizabethan house, so famous 
in our neighbourhood. You have heard about 
her.? No! Why, She went out one summer 
evening at twilight, when she was a beautiful 
girl, just seventeen years of age, to gather flowers 
in the garden; and presently came running, terri- 
fied, into the hall to her father, saying, **Oh, dear 

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A CHRISTMAS TREE 

father, I have met myself!" He took her in his 
arms, and told her it was fancy, but she said, "Oh 
no! I met myself in the broad walk, and I was 
pale and gathering withered flowers, and I turned 
my head, and held them up!" And, that night, she 
died ; and a picture of her story was begun, though 
never finished, and they say it is somewhere in 
the house to this day, with its face to the wall. 

Or, the uncle of my brother's wife was riding 
home on horseback, one mellow evening at sunset, 
when, in a green lane close to his own house, he 
saw a man standing before him, in the very centre 
of a narrow way. "Why does that man in the 
cloak stand there!" he thought. "Does he want 
me to ride over him?" But the figure never 
moved. He felt a strange sensation at seeing it so 
still, but slackened his trot and rode forward. 
When he was so close to it, as almost to touch it 
with his stirrup, his horse shied, and the figure 
glided up the bank, in a curious, unearthly manner 

— backward, and without seeming to use its feet 

— and was gone. The uncle of my brother's 

[133] 



I A CHRISTMAS TREE 

wife, exclaiming, "Good Heaven! It's my cousin 
Harry, from Bombay!" put spurs to his horse, i 

which was suddenly in a profuse sweat, and, 
wondering at such strange behaviour, dashed : 

round to the front of his house. There, he saw ;i 

the same figure, just passing in at the long French 
window of the drawing-room, opening on the 
ground. He threw his bridle to a servant, and , 

hastened in after it. His sister was sitting there, j jl 
alone. " Alice, where's my Cousin Harry .^ "" Your ' ' 
cousin Harry, John.^" "Yes. From Bombay. I 
met him in the lane just now, and saw him enter 
here, this instant." Not a creature had been seen 
by any one; and in that hour and minute, as it 
afterwards appeared, this cousin died in India. 

Or, it was a certain sensible old maiden lady, 
who died at ninety-nine, and retained her faculties 
to the last, who really did see the Orphan Boy; a 
story which has often been incorrectly told, but, 
of which the real truth is this — because it is, in 
fact, a story belonging to our family — and she 
was a connexion of our family. When she was ' 

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A CHRISTMAS TREE 

about forty years of age, and still an uncommonly 
fine woman (her lover died young, which was the 
reason why she never married, though she had 
many offers), she went to stay at a place in Kent, 
which her brother, an Indian-Merchant, had 
newly bought. There was a story that this place 
had once been held in trust by the guardian of a 
young boy ; who was himself the next heir, and who 
killed the young boy by harsh and cruel treatment. 
She knew nothing of that. It has been said that 
there was a Cage in her bedroom in which the 
guardian used to put the boy. There was no such 
thing. There was only a closet. She went to 
bed, made no alarm whatever in the night, and in 
the morning said composedly to her maid when 
she came in, "Who is the pretty forlorn-looking 
child who has been peeping out of that closet all 
night .^" The maid replied by giving a loud 
scream, and instantly decamping. She was sur- 
prised; but she was a woman of remarkable 
strength of mind, and she dressed herself and went 

down-stairs, and closeted herself with her brother. 

[135] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

''Now, Walter," she said, "I have been disturbed 
all night by a pretty, forlorn-looking boy, who has 
been constantly peeping out of that closet in my 
room, which I can't open. This is some trick." 
"I am afraid not, Charlotte," said he, *'for it is 
the legend of the house. It is the Orphan Boy. 
What did he do .^" "He opened the door softly," 
said she, '*and peeped out. Sometimes, he came 
a step or two into the room. Then, I called to him., 
to encourage him, and he shrunk, and shuddered, 
and crept in again, and shut the door." "The 
closet has no communication, Charlotte," said her 
brother, "with any other part of the house, and 
it's nailed up." This was undeniably true, and 
it took two carpenters a whole forenoon to get it 
open, for examination. Then, she was satisfied 
that she had seen the Orphan Boy. But, the 
wild and terrible part of the story is, that he was 
also seen by three of her brother's sons, in succes- 
sion, who all died young. On the occasion of 
each child being taken ill, he came home in a 

heat, twelve hours before, and said, "Oh, Mamma, 

[ 136 ] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

he had been playing under a particular oak-tree, 
in a certain meadow, with a strange boy — a 
pretty, forlorn-looking boy, who was very timid, 
and made signs! From fatal experience, the 
parents came to know that this was the Orphan 
Boy, and that the course of that child whom he 
chose for his little playmate was surely run. 

Legion is the name of the German castles, 
where we sit up alone to wait for the Spectre — 
where we are shown into a room, made compara- 
tively cheerful for our reception — where we 
glance round at the shadows, thrown on the blank 
walls by the crackling fire — where we feel very 
lonely when the village innkeeper and his pretty 
daughter have retired, after laying down a fresh 
store of wood upon the hearth, and setting forth 
on the small table such supper-cheer as a cold 
roast capon, bread, grapes, and a flask of old 
Rhine wine — where the reverberating doors close 
on their retreat, one after another, like so many 
peals of sullen thunder — and where, about the 

small hours of the night, we come into the knowl- 

[137] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

edge of divers supernatural mysteries. Legion is 
the name of the haunted German students, in 
whose society we draw yet nearer to the fire, while 
the schoolboy in the corner opens his eyes wide 
and round, and flies off the footstool he has chosen 
for his seat, when the door accidentally blows open. 
Vast is the crop of such fruit, shining on our 
Christmas Tree; in blossom, almost at the very 
top; ripening all down the boughs! 

Among the later toys and fancies hanging there 
— as idle often and less pure — be the images 
once associated with the sweet old Waits, the 
softened music in the night, ever unalterable! 
Encircled by the social thoughts of Christmas- 
time, still let the benignant figure of my childhood 
stand unchanged! In every cheerful image and 
suggestion that the season brings, may the bright 
star that rested above the poor roof, be the star 
of all the Christian World! A moment's pause, 
O vanishing tree, of which the lower boughs are 
dark to me as yet, and let me look once more! I 
know there are blank spaces on thy branches, 

[138] 



A CHRISTMAS TREE 

where eyes that I have loved have shone and 
smiled; from which they are departed. But, far 
above, I see the raiser of the dead girl, and the 
Widow's Son ; and God is good ! If Age be hiding 
for me in the unseen portion of thy downward 
growth, O may I, with a grey head, turn a child's 
heart to that figure yet, and a child's trustfulness 
and confidence! 

Now, the tree is decorated with bright merri- 
ment, and song, and dance, and cheerfulness. 
And they are welcome. Innocent and welcome 
be they ever held, beneath the branches of the 
Christmas Tree, which cast no gloomy shadow! 
But, as it sinks into the ground, I hear a whisper 
going through the leaves. "This, in commemora- 
tion of the law of love and kindness, mercy and 
compassion. This, in remembrance of Me!" 




[139] 



ikn-h 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper pr 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxid 
Treatment Date: March 2009 

Preservationlechnoloj 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESER 

111 Thomson Park Drive 



